A FAITHFUL FRIEND
by Shirley Jean
Summary: He glanced to his left at the motorcade of black; the long line of darkness he had agreed to be a part of. It had felt like entering a black hole. He had wanted to be there for her; for the children. The Department would do what they could, along with her family and friends. It would be a long road for her, and he would do all he could to help as a friend, as a 'brother'...
1. Chapter 1

The rain continued at a relentless pace. With their larger than normal drops cascading from the sky, the rim of his cap, which was, at the start of this horrible day, perfectly shined, but was now splattered with the remnants of the rain that refused to ease. It was now running down the sides and back of his hat, soaking his back and shoulders in the dress uniform he despised; especially today.

His white-gloved hands were also drenched, as he adjusted his grip on the slippery metal handle he carried. He blinked furiously to clear his eyes, as the rain that was pelting his face obstructed his vision, along with his own grief. It had, however, mingled with his tears, making it easier not to have to keep control. At least the rain was good for something.

John shook his head to clear it. He couldn't think. He was numb. Someone somewhere was talking, but he was only hearing fragments of what was being said.

"Follow the person…stay in step..stand at attention…gloves on casket…quarter turn to the right…"

Johnny felt a hand on his shoulder.

"John, are you alright?"

Shaking his head 'no' was his answer. He didn't know if he would be alright again. He felt sick to his stomach. His knees wanted to buckle. He looked out at the sea of blue uniforms. The bile in his throat began to rise and burn as he pushed it back down as he swallowed. His chest hurt. The ringing in his ears and his wavering vision was starting again. He took a deep breath to regain himself. He wanted to get out of there.

He glanced to his left at the motorcade of black; the steady line of darkness he had reluctantly agreed to be a part of. It had felt like entering a black hole. He had wanted to be there for her; for the children. She would have to face life without him now, and the children without their father. The Department would do what they could, along with her family and friends. It would be a long road. He would try to help. It was his duty, as a friend, as a "brother."

John jumped as a pat on the shoulder from a fellow pallbearer behind him brought him back to reality. The familiar trumpet rendition of "Taps" playing somewhere in the distance told him that it was time. The men slowly straightened, stood at attention and removed their rain-sodden gloves, and placed them on the casket, and departed.

John was the last. As he lingered with his hand resting on the casket, He lowered his head in saddened defeat. The woman wearing black arose from the metal chairs and met John at the casket and hugged him tightly, and they cried together for a few moments. She turned and took the children, and retreated to the awaiting black Cadillac, leaving Johnny to have some quiet time with his departed friend.

After a few minutes, John felt an arm around his shoulder, a comfort he longed for and needed.

"Hey, Junior." Roy stood along side his grieving friend.

Grateful, John turned to his best friend.

"Glad you're here, Pally. Don't think I could do this without you."

Roy pulled John into a hug, knowing that losing his friend from the police department had been rough on him, especially since it was a call they had been on together.

John's friend had been depressed, leaving people close to him question what had happened. John and Roy had been the ones to answer the call, and had surmised that it wasn't an "accidental" shooting that happened while Officer Trent Jennings was cleaning his revolver. Roy watched as his best friend tried frantically to save him. He watched his friend work like a madman doing CPR in the ER, even after Brackett decided to call 'Time of Death,' and Roy had been the one to pull his best friend out of the treatment room in sullen defeat.

Reports were filed, and the department had determined that it was "inconclusive," and ruled the shooting accidental. John had known Trent was down, and they had talked about it at length, and now John was left to wonder what really happened. John shared this information with the detective, and had spent the past week leading up to the funeral making himself sick worrying about it. Trent's wife Linda had even called John about her husband. She had talked about leaving him because he wouldn't get help. It had bothered John that she had taken his death so calmly. Perhaps it was the shock of it all. He had also felt that the investigation was too rushed. The detective didn't seem interested.

"Come on, Johnny. Let's go home. I think there's a couple beers with our names on 'em."

John nodded, and Roy put his arm around Johnny once again and led him to his car. He was going to help his friend through this.

As they made their way across the cemetery, an unsettling grin crossed the lips of Mrs. Linda Jennings as she watched the men leave. She reached down and hit the button, and raised the tinted window slowly of the black Cadillac. Ever so slowly it departed…


	2. Chapter 2

John slowly pulled up to the curb, and shut off the engine of his Rover. Memories flooded his mind of Roy pulling the squad up to almost the exact same spot, his heart racing, hoping that it was all a horrible mistake, as he and Roy gathered their equipment and raced into the house to try fruitlessly to save his friend that day. His chest started to tighten as he slowly got out, and walked around to the back of his truck to retrieve his toolbox. He drew in a deep cleansing breath, and glanced around at the yard, littered with the same kids toys that were there on that day.

He had told Linda Jennings he would be stopping by today. The lawnmower needed a new spark plug,…the washer was making a funny noise…all things he said he could help with. Inwardly, he wished he hadn't promised. He didn't want to come back. After all, this was where it happened. He wondered how Linda could even step foot back here.

He made his way up the walk, and stopped at the door. He stomach started to rebel as he knocked. Getting himself under control, he knocked again, wondering if he was too early. He glanced at his watch, Almost 9 - He had mentioned it would be around 9, after he got off shift and went home to eat and shower, and get the necessary tools.

He listened for a moment, to see if he heard any stirrings in the house, the children running around, maybe the TV playing too loudly. When he heard some voices in the back yard, he made his way around to the side path, and to the back yard, and was caught by surprise at what he saw.

Sitting on the back deck, wearing a robe, was Linda Jennings, and a somewhat familiar face – that of one Detective Joe Miller, sitting there casually, shirtless and in jeans, sipping coffee. The same Detective Joe Miller who was handling the death investigation of his friend, Trent Jennings. Both startled at the appearance of the paramedic.

"John! What are you doing here?" Linda Jumped up and attempted to scrunch her robe at her neck, and to hide what she was wearing, or lack thereof. Joe glared at John, his anger becoming apparent.

"Mornin' Linda, Detective Miller. I mentioned to you the other day that I would be by this morning to take a look at that washer, & help with the mower. Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya."

Linda stammered, trying to come up with a response.

"oh, ya, sorry, I guess I forgot. So much going on, ya know? Joe here, he ah, came by last night, and ah, he, um…was helping me with some paperwork, and it got really late, so, I, um…just told him to sleep in Benjy's room,…you know, so he wouldn't fall asleep driving home and all, since the kids are with their grandparents for a couple weeks. So, ah, you want some coffee or something?" Joe stared at Linda for rambling, hoping John hadn't caught on.

"Ah, no thanks, I'll just get started n' take a look at the mower if that's okay. If you need any help with papers n' stuff, I'd be happy to help you with whatever you…"

"Don't worry about it Gage, I've got it covered." Joe sneered. John eyed the detective cautiously.

"I guess I didn't realize you were so close to Trent and Linda,…Trent never mentioned that. Glad you're able to help out. Well, guess I better get started." John picked up his toolbox and made his way to the side door of the garage. Opening it, what he saw made him once again sick to his stomach.

Sitting in the garage, was a car that he had only seen a couple times before. The dark sedan that had been there that night. It was Joe's. And now, it was parked in the garage? Where was Trent's sport's car, the pride and joy that John had helped him restore and rebuild? It was always parked in that spot. When Trent wasn't working on it, or polishing it, it was gently covered up, or he was sitting behind the wheel, with Benjy on his lap…telling his son how it would be his one day. All of a sudden, his feet felt like lead as he made his way over to the lawnmower. The sickening reality of truth began making itself known, and John found the nearest garbage receptacle in which to lose his breakfast. When there was nothing left, and the dry heaving had stopped, John decided to complete the tasks he had promised to do as fast as possible, and find Roy.

He wiped his mouth with the rag in his back pocket, and quickly changed the spark plug on the mower. He opened the garage door, and pulled the mower out and fired it up. He turned it off, and returned it to the garage. He reached for the doorknob of the house, and thought better of it, and knocked. Joe answered, and the uneasy sick feeling John had was returning.

"Thought I would take a look at the washer, Linda said it was acting up." John said, very matter-of-factly.

"Joe eyed him, trying to read his thoughts. He stepped to the side, letting him pass. The washer and dryer were located in the closet in the main hallway, near the bedrooms, something that Trent had done for his wife about a year ago and John assisted with. An attempt to "modernize" the home for his wife.

As John walked down the hall, he passed Benjy's room, and noted the bed was perfectly made. Obviously hadn't been slept in recently. He then passed the open door of that fateful den. Tears rimmed his eyes. He refused to allow himself to peer in. It amazed him that the door was open, given the tragedy that took place there. It would seem that for the sake of the children, and for Linda, that the door would stay closed. But given the things he had discovered today, and the evidence of Linda's carefree, cold hearted attitude, things were beginning to make more sense. He was starting to understand the reason for Trent's depression, and his pulling away, especially if he had suspected all of this too.

John wanted to leave. To hell with the washer. He decided he would look at it quickly and make an excuse, tell them that they should call a repairman, and leave. Never to return. But what about the children? What about Benjy and Lisa? He had become attached to them. They didn't deserve any of this. And something about Trent's death just didn't add up. He had been on "accidental shooting" calls before, but something was really off about this one. And now this new discovery about Detective Miller and Linda made him wonder. And remembering the position of the body, Trent's face frozen in fear, his eyes, transfixed in horror, almost pleading…

"So, can you fix it?" John thoughts were interrupted by Linda's question. John tried to keep his face from revealing his true feelings.

"Ya know, Linda, I'm thinkin' you may need a new part here. You should probably contact the appliance store, and have them come out and take a look at this so they can order one. They can install it. I wouldn't want to interefere with the warranty or anything.'"

Joe stood behind Linda, watching John carefully.

"Makes sense, Linda. After all. He's just a fireman. Wouldn't want him wrecking the washer. Thanks anyway. You can be on your way, now. And, uh, no need to stop by anymore. I, I mean, us guys at the department can handle things for Linda from here on out."

John felt his anger rising. He was upset at the obvious affair that was taking place, but he still felt a loyalty to his friend Trent, and to his children.

"Now just a minute,…Benjy and Lisa have known me practically all their lives, and I care about them. I can't just walk away from them. I'm trying not to think about what's really going on here. Trent was my friend. I can't believe that you could hurt him like this, or the children! They don't deserve…" John's face saddened, and he crossed his arms in front of him.

Linda gasped and huffed as she interrupted John before he continued.

"Now, just a damn minute! I don't know what you're implying, but Joe and I are just friends! He has been helping me with paperwork since Trent decided to kill himself, and frankly, I'm quite grateful,…

John couldn't contain his anger any longer,and interrupted Linda's rant.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY? KILLED HIMSELF? I thought you ruled the shooting accidental! What the HELL is going on here? Something isn't right here!"

Joe exploded with anger, and grabbed John roughly by the wrist, and pulled it hard up behind his back and "escorted" him out of the house and to his Rover. Linda followed with his toolbox.

"I already told you, it was an accidental shooting. Case closed. And I meant what I said about you coming around here again. If I have to enforce it legally, I will. I won't have you upsetting Linda and the kids. Have I made myself clear?"

John turned to respond, when Joe Miller slammed John into the side of his truck, to emphasize his point. A searing pain shot through John's side, making him grit his teeth in pain.

"Crystal." John ground out through gritted teeth. Joe grabbed Linda by the arm forcefully, and went back into the house, slamming the door. John fished out his keys, slid into his Rover, and speedily drove off. He had to find Roy. He had to figure out what to do. He had to report what he had found out to the police,…but could he trust anyone? Who could he talk to?

Once inside the house, Linda Jennings paced nervously in her living room. She chewed on her perfectly manicured fingernail.

"I'm scared, Joe. John Gage knows about us. What if he decides to do something? He could make trouble for us, Joe,…big trouble!"

Joe Miller laughed an evil laugh.

"So what? So he knows. I think he got the message to stay away from us. Another week or two and the insurance money will come in, and we're home free. Gage decides to butt in or get nosy, being a fireman and all, ya just never know…he could just have an unfortunate "accident." Don't sweat it. Just let me handle it."

Linda joined Joe in laughing, and they ended up in each others' arms. They headed for the bedroom, and slowly closed the door.

John pulled into Roy's driveway a little faster than normal, which caught Roy's attention, as he was leaning on the ladder against the house, cleaning the gutters. When John didn't get out of the truck right away, Roy looked over to see John leaning on his hands as they rested on the steering wheel. Something about his friends' posture made him climb down and approach his Rover. He tapped on the car window.

"Junior, what is it? You ok? Junior?"

John leaned his head back with his eyes closed.

A single tear rolled down his cheek...


	3. Chapter 3

"Jeezus, Roy, I still can't believe it! I knew something was off about this whole thing, but this, this is so, I-I don't know, I can't even think any more."

John was holding his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, with his feet propped on the bench in front of him, as he sat in his locker before their shift started. His rapid breathing was giving Roy some cause for concern, knowing John was trying to get himself together. It was obvious his friend hadn't slept much. He would venture a guess that he hadn't had much to eat, either. They sat there together in solitude, Roy wanting to be there for his friend.

Roy was thankful that C-shift was still out on their run, and A-shift had not yet made their arrival. Roy had convinced John the day before at his house to come in early to talk to Cap about the whole incident, hoping he could help John make a decision as to what to do. He was worried that his partner was going to go off half-cocked and do something dangerous because of his emotional involvement.

'I have to do something, Roy. I'm convinced now more than ever that Trent's death wasn't an accident. You can't tell me it was a suicide either."

"Johnny, you may have to consider, I mean, with everything that was happening, and if Trent found out, maybe he was upset enough…"

John interrupted and stood to his feet in protest, trying to make his point.

"No, Roy, No way. Trent would never do that. Especially to his kids. He loved them too much. I'll never believe it."

Realizing he moved a little too fast, John steadied himself, holding his side for a moment, gritting his teeth and cursing under his breath, remembering how the pain got there to begin with. Thinking about Miller and his cocky attitude made him even angrier. Roy rose from bench, and went to his friends' elbow to help steady him.

"Easy, partner. You alright?" Roy reached to lift John's shirt. He didn't get very far when John pushed his hand away, down-playing it as usual. He gingerly sat back down.

"Roy, quit it, I'm fine. I'm thinkin' of making some more phone calls, you know, tryin' to get them to re-open Trent's death investigation. I feel it in my gut, Roy. Miller's involved somehow. Linda too. They did something. I know it. I just don't know who to talk to about it."

Their conversation was interrupted when the station's garage door began to open. John and Roy finished dressing, and John went to make the coffee for the crew. The guys from C-Crew came in chattering loudly about the run, smelling of smoke, and began to argue about dibs on the shower. Seeing John in the kitchen, they all greeted him fondly. They all made their way to the locker room, passing Roy as he was making his way to the kitchen. John sat tiredly at the table with an old newspaper, waiting for the coffee to brew, and his crewmates.

Fifteen minutes later, A-Shift started drifting into the station. Chet Kelly made his way into the kitchen, looking for his supply of caffeine, being overly dramatic that his favorite pigeon was already there.

"Whoa, Gage is either early for a change, or we're all really late. We better mark this occasion on the calendar! A date that'll go down in firefighting history!" Chet waved his arms around for effect.

John just leaned on his hands and didn't bother to respond.

"Hellooo,…earth to Gage! I said…"

"I heard you, Kelly. Go away." John said with a sigh. He wasn't in the mood.

"Great comeback, Gage. How long you been workin' on that one?" Chet quipped.

"Back off, Chet. It's been a long week." Roy defended.

"Ah, com'on, Roy. Just tryin' to lighten the mood around here! Right, Johnny-baby?"

John sighed again and rolled his eyes. Captain Stanley's voice boomed from the bay, signaling time for roll call.

The guys headed into the bay. Assignments for the day were handed out. A shaving cream projectile pie in the face, courtesy of the Phantom that had been meant for Marco, had been intercepted by a very angry Captain Stanley when he innocently went to the cupboard for a coffee cup on a previous shift. That had sealed Chet's fate with latrine duty until further notice. Roy had Kitchen and meals for the day, Marco and Mike had to hang hoses and work on the grounds, John had the dorm and linens, which suited him fine. It gave him some solitude. A string of phone calls that Hank needed to make prevented Roy and John talking with their Captain. It would have to wait until later.

Johnny kept mindlessly switching out the sheets, folding and tucking. Roy made his way into the dorm, found a bed near his friend, and sat.

"How ya doing, Junior? Want some help?" Johnny shrugged, and tossed a couple pillowcases at Roy's head. A half smile crossed John's face as he hit his mark, which gave Roy a bit of relief. He hadn't seen that in over a week.

"We missed ya last night for dinner. I was hoping you'd stick around. The kids really miss their Uncle Johnny." Roy said as he changed the pillowcases.

"I know, Roy, I really miss all of you, too. I promise I'll come over. Maybe sometime after shift tomorrow? 'Fraid I haven't been very good company lately."

Roy eyed his friend, knowing something else was up.

"What's on your mind, Junior? Feel like talking about it?" John smoothed the blanket on the bed he was working on, and sat down. He grabbed the pillow and pulled it into his lap, and started picking at its seam. Just as Johnny was about to open up, the Klaxons sounded.

**STATION 51, STRUCTURE FIRE, 3151 CARSON BOULEVARD, 3-1-5-1 CARSON BOULEVARD, TIME OUT, 9:51…**

"Station 51, KMG365." Captain Stanley responded, as he returned the handset to its position, and handed the slip of paper through the squad's window, and ran for his seat in engine.

The Squad, followed by the engine pulled up to the address given by the dispatcher, lights flashing, siren's blaring. Men from both vehicles jumped from their vehicles, donning their turnouts, ready to take action. A look of puzzlement and confusion evident on their faces, they turned to their Captain, who reached for his HT.

"LA County Dispatch, this is Engine 51, please verify address on our last call. We are at scene and there are no signs of a structure fire. Building and street appears to be abandoned."

Sam's voice came through loud and clear.

"10-4, 51. Confirming address; Structure fire at 3151 Carson Boulevard, repeating, 3-1-5-1 Carson Boulevard. Time of call was 0-9:51. Caller did not identify himself or leave call back number before hanging up. An officer has also been dispatched to your location."

"Ah, 10-4 Dispatch, It appears we have a false report. We'll check it out just to be sure. 51 out." Hank tucked his HT in his pocket and rounded up the guys.

"Okay, guys,…listen up. I'm not seeing anything or smelling any smoke, so this could be a false alarm or could be someone who just likes fire trucks and the excitement of lights and sirens. Dispatch is sending an officer, but we're going to check things out just be safe. I want us to pair off, so, Chet, Marco, go around the side and back then take the first floor. John, Roy, go through the front entrance, then hit the second floor. Mike will keep an eye on the vehicles out here. Anything or anyone suspicious, and I mean ANYTHING, notify me immediately on your HT and get out. No heroics. Got it?" A group of collective nods, and 'yessirs' were given, while the men tightened their helmets. With no sign of fire, air tanks were left outside and at the ready by the trucks.

Hank continued to survey the front of the building with Officer Vince Howard when he arrived, while he made out his report. Chet and Marco made their way around to the side of the building. Not being the best neighborhood, they cautiously were aware of their surroundings. The building was rundown, scattered with broken windows, strewn garbage, peeling paint, and leftover wood pallets. They found a door ajar on the side of the building, of which they reported to their Captain. A few stray cats, and a sleeping drunk, who definitely wasn't in the mood to be disturbed was on the other. They tried to wake him, his smell rather overwhelming, and thought it a job better suited for Vince to handle, which he promptly did, and he toddled on his way. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, they checked in with their Captain, and proceeded into the first floor and began their sweep, Chet headed left; Marco to the right.

John and Roy had forced their way in the dilapidated front door, and began to climb what was left of the stairs. John's senses were heightened. He always had a sixth sense about these things. As they climbed, he took the lead; feeling protective of his partner. He held his hand back behind him, trying to keep Roy safely behind him, slowing their pace. Roy had grown to trust his partner's instincts. He was usually always right, and he trusted him implicitly.

"What is it, Junior? See something?" John slowly shook his head.

"Smell that?" John sniffed the air. He turned to look at Roy, his eyes narrowing. He cautiously took a few more steps. He sniffed again. That strong, metallic smell. He'd smelled it before.

"Somethin's not right, Roy." He continued his climb and crested the staircase of the open structure. The vacant landing had a bunch of cardboard boxes neatly piled in the middle, striking Johnny as odd.

"Roy, This building is old, but look, those boxes n' pallets are new and neatly arranged. And that smell... It's some form of an accelerent!" A waft of an odd-color smoke drifted from the center of the pile.

John grabbed his HT and yelled into it. He turned and pushed Roy toward the entrance. Roy headed out as fast as he could, pulling on Johnny's arm as he went.

"EVERYBODY OUT! MOVE IT, NOW! IT"S GONNA BLOW! GO! GO! GO! GO!"

John turned and pushed at Roy, and Roy turned and ran down the stairs. At the same time, Chet and Marco heard John yelling to get out, and they came from different directions, sprinting for the door.

Cap, Mike and Vince ran across the street, ducking down behind the squad car. Chet and Marco ran to meet them. Roy got to the door, thinking John was behind him, but he wasn't. John had missed a step and caught his foot in the empty space where a step used to be. Roy went back to help John free his foot, and John pushed at him, yelling at him to get out. Roy shook his head, refusing to leave his best friend, his partner. John wriggled and writhed, and Roy pulled and tugged until he was free. Smoke began to fill the dingy, abandoned warehouse. They made a beeline for the door, running as though they were being chased. Johnny tried to push Roy behind the squad to safety.

But then, all hell broke loose.

The explosion shook everyone to their core. Windows blew in buildings as far as three buildings down. Car windows parked on the street shattered. Johnny and Roy were thrown to the ground like toys being discarded by a toddler having a tantrum. Neither were moving.

Captain Stanley gathered himself and called out 3 other stations, another paramedic unit and an ambulance to handle the scene. Mike, Marco, Chet and Officer Vince Howard ran to help the fallen firefighters. Bits of debris came fluttering to the ground like spontaneous shards of rain.

A black sedan, sitting un-noticed at the curb a few blocks down, watched the mayhem as it unfolded. The car eased away from its ringside seat, and drove off.


	4. Chapter 4

"Gage, stop that… Gage stay down… Gage, stop fighting... Gage, leave that where it is… No,... Gage, leave the oxygen mask on…Gage, seriously…. Gage, you have a head wound, and you need to remain still… Gage, careful, the IV… Gage, stop fighting me. Look. He's right over there. He's doing fine, better than you, actually. Bellingham is taking care of Roy. You are going to dislodge your IV if you don't settle down… Gage, I can use restraints if I need to, you know. According to the handbook, section 6 specifically states in sub-section 4, paragraph 3, that in the event of an unruly and uncooperative…Gage! Gage! CAPTAIN STANLEY? A LITTLE HELP HERE, PLEASE?"

A very flustered Craig Brice huffed in exasperation as he was trying to keep the oxygen mask on Johnny, not to mention the IV from getting torn out of his arm as he was trying to sit up, and the pressure bandage on his head wound. Johnny, who was somewhat disoriented, was trying to find the whereabouts of his best friend.

Both Roy and Johnny had once again beat the odds, and had escaped very serious injury. They had managed to get out with slight and moderate concussions, cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a yet to be determined knee injury. Roy was sitting up, holding his own oxygen mask, having the road rash on his cheek patched up. He was chuckling under his mask at the hard time his partner was giving Brice. Examining Roy's knee, Bellingham splinted it. He took Roy's vitals again, seemingly happy with the results.

"I don't think anything's broken, Roy. We'll have it checked at Rampart. How's your head? Your responses are good. Marco said you were out for a couple of minutes. Gage there was out for quite a while…looks like Brice has his hands full!" While checking Roy's eyes again, Bellingham joined Roy in snickering, knowing the kind of patient Johnny could be.

Captain Stanley came over to help Brice with an agitated John Gage. The paramedic was quite flustered, being that John just wanted to be with his partner. His only concern was how Roy was doing, not his own injuries. Hank placed a calming, fatherly hand on John's arm.

"Com'on pal, you need to calm down. Roy's fine, he sitting over there talking to Bellingham, okay? You need to let Brice do his job. You took a hard hit, and we need to get you two to Rampart. That's an order, hear me, John?" John's sluggish gaze found his commander's eyes, which were now compassionate and full of concern. He nodded in agreement, and settled back onto the gurney to be readied for transport.

Truth be told, he did feel like crap. He just didn't want to give Brice the satisfaction. His head was throbbing. His ribs were aching. His stomach was starting to rebel. He started to swallow furiously, trying to fight the rising bile in his throat.

"Thank you sir, I knew you'd convince him to do things MY way." Brice said snidely, adjusting his glasses.

"Annoying little twit…" Hank muttered under his breath.

"I'm sorry, sir, did you say something?" Brice inquired.

"I, uh, said we should get going." Cap said with a grin.

Roy noticed the familiar signs of John feeling sick.

"Hey Brice, you should probably step away from the gurney for a minute."

"DeSoto, you are in no position at this time to tell me how to do my job. I have everything at hand. I am perfectly capable to administer…"

The 'perfect' paramedic's dissertation was promptly interrupted by Johnny leaning over the side of the gurney, and getting sick all over Brice's newly acquired, 100% regulation, handbook-approved shoes. He lifted his glasses for a closer observance. He looked over at his chuckling colleagues, and huffed at them. Roy hobbled to his feet and made his way to the gurney, aided by Bellingham, worried about his friend.

"Hey partner, How ya doing?" Roy took a 4x4 and wiped his best friend's mouth. As Johnny was loaded, Bellingham aided Roy into the back of the ambulance. Brice started to get into the ambulance, but Bellingham, held up his hand.

"Uh, Brice, I'll ride with them. Besides. You kinda smell!" Brice stood back with his mouth agape, as the doors were shut. Hank gave the customary two slaps, and the ambulance drove off.

The ambulance backed into the bay, with Dixie and Brackett waiting. A wheelchair was waiting for Roy, which he gladly accepted. John was whisked into treatment room 3, Roy into Room 2, where Dr. Early was waiting. It never ceased to amaze the doctors that their favorite paramedics could escape serious injury.

After a battery of tests, it was determined that Roy had a slight concussion, scrapes, bruises, and had twisted his knee. He was going to have to stay at the hospital for at least 2 days, and upon approval, would be allowed to return to work in a couple weeks. He would definitely be sore for some time to come.

Johnny, on the other hand, had a concussion, required 12 stitches to close the gash in his forehead, had dislocation of his shoulder, and cracked 3 ribs from impacting the pavement, not to mention numerous bruises and scrapes. He would be Rampart's guest for at least 3 days, and, depending on his recovery, up to 4 weeks off duty.

All in all, things could have been much worse. They were pretty thankful.

Once settled in their shared room, the guys from 51 stopped in to make sure they were alright.

"I'd pay good money to see Johnny up-chuck on Brice again. I heard he's trying to get the department to reimburse him for some new shoes. That's one for the books!" Chet said with a laugh.

"I Even heard Mikey laugh out loud when it happened. Good one, Johnny!" Marco joined in.

"My pleasure guys. Glad to be of service." Johnny tried to laugh, but his ribs ached too much.

"Bunch of overgrown twits." Hank was laughing too. He was just pleased that his men were okay.

The guys from 51's had headed back to the station, Joanne had come and gone, and Johnny and Roy had settled in as best as they could. Being poked and prodded, and being awakened every two hours for neuro-checks wasn't making for a very restful stay. Later in the day, After Johnny's CAT scan, It was Roy's turn to get a scan for his knee. After Roy left with Dixie as his escort and wheelchair driver, John settled back and closed his eyes, hoping to catch a nap, thinking it would help the throbbing in his head to ease.

He didn't hear the door silently open.

Startling him awake, was a hand placed over his mouth, and a forceful arm across his injured ribs, John's widened eyes locked onto the face of Detective Joe Miller.

"I thought I made myself clear, Gage! Keep your nose out of my business! It seems that after you left Linda's house, you took it upon yourself to make a phone call to Detective Crockett. It sounds like you have some suspicions about me, huh Gage? He had a little chat with me, and I explained to him that I was just helping out a friend in need, just like you, you know, in her time of grief. You have to realize that us cops, we stick together, and watch out for our own, Gage. You need to watch your mouth."

Miller sneered and leaned a little harder on Johnny's ribcage, causing him to gasp in pain. He felt his vision narrowing, as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He couldn't allow himself to pass out now.

"You don't seem to understand that people could have a way of getting hurt, Gage, maybe even killed. Kinda like your partner, here? Or maybe his pretty little wife,.. or his bratty little kids? Not to mention your stupid co-workers that you seem to be so fond of…"

Johnny squirmed under Miller's tight grasp in pain, and was angry at his threats toward his loved ones and friends. Miller pushed even harder, and pulled the oxygen cannula from his nose, making it even harder for Johnny to breathe.

"Didn't you like that spectacle I arranged for you and your friends at the warehouse? I was kinda proud of my handiwork! Too bad you survived. I'll have to do a better job next time. Better watch yourself, Gage, accidents can happen anywhere,…even in hospitals." He laughed a horrible, evil laugh.

"Oh, and by the way? Thanks for doing such a great job on Trent's car. Helps me score with the women, and it drives like a dream!" Joe Miller Laughed heartily again, releasing his hold on Johnny, and walked out of the room.

Johnny lay there gasping for air, writhing in pain, trying to retrieve his call button that had been thrown to the floor. He wasn't able to retrieve it before darkness started to overtake him…


	5. Chapter 5

After some time, Dixie, Dr. Brackett, and against their protests, Roy, had helped to get Johnny settled into his bed, and cleaned up his re-opened head wound, IV's that had been pulled from his arm had been replaced, sedative administered, and Dixie had sweetly cleaned up the remnants of blood that made it look less like a battleground. His bedding was changed, and maintenance had been called to replace the call light that had been pulled out of the wall. Roy refused to return to his own bed until he knew his friend was okay.

"Well, I don't know what happened here, but luckily John's ribs aren't broken, and I had to re-suture part of his head lac, which explains the blood on his face. Looks like he put up one hell of a fight. Fortunately, he didn't puncture his lung like I first thought. I've given him a mild sedative to calm his breathing and settle him down. Thankfully, he'll be out for a little while. I've informed security to have someone posted outside this door until further notice. When he wakes up we'll get some answers. Now, let's get you settled, Roy. Come on, He'll sleep for a while. You need to rest. "

Roy reluctantly complied, still keeping an eye on his friend. Dixie was still fussing over the younger paramedic, and then moved over to Roy's bed. Roy promised to stay put, especially after Dixie threatened him with a sedative of his own. He was tired, but also worried. She straightened his bedding, and patted his shoulder, knowing he needed the reassurance, and promised to call their captain, and slipped out quietly. Voices could be heard in the hallway. Brackett's booming voice was instructing the security officer, and then the nursing staff. He was angry. But then again, so was Roy. Who could do such a thing to his best friend? And here of all places?

Frustrated that sleep wouldn't come, Roy pushed his blanket aside, and quietly slid out of bed. Seeing how restless his best friend was bothered him. He knew how prone his friend was to nightmares, and was worried about the events from the past couple weeks invading his subconscious, and ripping away at what little rest he was managing to get. Johnny cared so deeply about things, and especially people. Roy knew John's concerns about Trent were founded. He returned to his bed quietly after watching the rain fall at the window for a few minutes, thinking of his own wife and children, counting his blessings.

He slid his arm behind his head. He listened to the breathing of his partner, his training kicking in, counting…listening to the blips of his friend's newly placed heart monitor. He turned on the TV, flipping through the channels…nothing. Exhaustion finally winning out, his eyelids drooping, he let himself doze.

_**He tied Johnny's arms and legs tightly to a chair, while he lined the DeSoto family up in their living room, blindfolding them and binding their hands behind their backs, seating them on the floor of their suburban home. He lined them up according to size. He turned Johnny's chair to face the family, so that he was forced to watch the festivities. All the while, gloating at the torture being inflicted on the paramedic he hated so much. _

_"Please,..don't do this! Let them go! You can do whatever you want with me…Just let them Go! PLEASE!" Johnny begged for their lives. He struggled to free himself. Each time he struggled, he was beaten for his trouble._

_Joe Miller smiled an eerie, heartless smile. The younger children sobbed inconsolably as Roy and Joanne tried desperately to comfort them with their words, telling them they loved them._

_Miller walked up behind the family and raised his gun, and randomly aimed it behind their heads, as if playing Russian Roulette, trying to decide which one to execute first. The lovely Joanne? Sweet little Jennifer? She so loves her Uncle Johnny…Or tough guy Chris…such a boy scout…just like his father…How about the courageous Roy? Or perhaps make the parents watch their children die first…who shall it be?  
_

_A smile of sick satisfaction crossed Joe Miller's face as he pulled the hammer back on his police issued weapon. His decision was made as he locked eyes with the dark-haired paramedic as he pressed the gun barrel into the back of the head of one of his victims._

_Then, a shot rang out,..blood, skull pieces, and gray matter splattered the face of John Roderick Gage…**_

Guttural raw screams escaped from Johnny's sleeping form. A startled Roy jumped from his bed and was at Johnny's side in a matter of seconds. His screaming was so intense, that it brought Dr. Brackett into his room at a dead run. Dixie retrieved the ordered sedative. The security guard stood in the doorway, not sure what to do.

"Come on Junior. Wake up, buddy. Easy, now. It's just a dream. Johnny, Wake up." Roy was gently trying to wake his partner, his heart breaking for what must be tormenting him.

"NOOOOOOOOO…M-MILLER DOOOOONNNNN'T…" Johnny's cries were gut wrenching. Brackett was trying to hold him still, to keep him from further hurting himself, as Roy kept talking to him. His hands were covering his face, as he shook uncontrollably. Roy gently pulled his hands away, hoping his partner would find his way back to him.

"Johnny, listen to me. It's just a nightmare. Listen to my voice. Wake up, Junior. It's okay. Please!"

Johnny's body shook him back into reality. His eyes flew open, his breathing rapid. Dr. Brackett adjusted his oxygen, and Roy calmed his friend.

"That's right Johnny, It's okay. It was just a bad dream. Take some deep breaths. Good. Look at me. Keep breathing." Roy was mimicking the breathing he wanted Johnny to do. Tears were falling from the corners of Johnny's eyes. Johnny blinked hard to wisk them away. Brackett busied himself taking vitals, shaking his head, not liking his readings. Dixie handed the doctor the syringe, and readied the new IV to be replaced. Her motherly instincts kicked in as she, along with Roy, tried to comfort their friend.

Johnny's eyes tried to find Roy's voice. Once found, his breathing started to regulate. Dr. Brackett raised the syringe, but Roy put his hand up, not wanting him to administer the sedative. As hard as it was, he wanted his partner to calm down on his own, remember his nightmare; and who had attacked him.

Johnny grasped Roy's hand and held on for dear life. Roy kept speaking soothingly to him, getting him to settle down. Dr. Brackett was repeatedly taking his vitals, the furrowed brow slowly relaxing.

"Doing great, Junior. Feeling ok, now? Think you can talk about it?" Johnny closed his eyes, took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and reluctantly nodded.

"I-it was s-so real. He he was going to, to…" Johnny's voice wavered with emotion.

"Who Johnny?" Roy asked, gently.

"Miller…h-he was gonna h-hurt you an' Joanne,…the kids…" John closed his eyes, and drew a shaky breath. Dixie patted his arm. Brackett asked the question that everyone was thinking.

"John, was it Miller that was in your room earlier? Was he the one that hurt you?" John hesitated to answer, remembering the threats made against everyone he cared about.

"Johnny, you don't have to be afraid of Miller. We'll get you police protection."

Johnny shook his head. The monitor started to blip faster. Sweat broke out on his brow.

"YOU DON' UNDERSTAND! God, Roy, He IS the police! H-he threatened everyone I care about! I-I c-couldn't live with myself if anything h-happened to you, or Jo or the kids…" Johnny winced as some of his pain was making itself known. Dr. Brackett decided enough was enough. He injected the pain medication into John's IV port.

Listening to what was being said, the guard quietly slipped out of the room and made his way down the hall to a payphone to make a call.

"Um ya,…this is Martin. Gage is awake. Uh huh. He's talking. A lot. Ya, in fact, your name DID come up. Thought you'd like to know. I did what you asked, soooo…. you'll take care of that little drunk driving thing for me? Thanks, Detective Miller, So, there's nothing else you need,…What? But I did what you asked…No, I don't wanna go to jail,...Okay, Okay, I'll do it. Then we'll be square, right? "

The guard slammed the phone back into its cradle, looked over his shoulder, and slipped into the elevator un-noticed...


	6. Chapter 6

Dr. Brackett stood at the Nurses' desk, making his latest notations on some charts. He glanced at the door, thinking about his favorite paramedics resting behind it. A thought passed through his mind. Dixie read his thoughts.

"What is it, Kel?"

That guard… Where did he go? He's been gone for over an hour now. Such incompetence! Dix, will you call…"

"Already did. Another guard is on his way. Relax, Kel. Our boys will be fine."

"It's just the idea that something like this happened in my hospital, and to a friend of mine. I won't stand for it, Dix. I'm going to make some phone calls. "

Brackett clicked his pen shut and closed the finished chart, placing it back in the rack. Dixie nodded that she heard him. She understood his frustration; she was feeling it too. The thought that someone had purposely hurt Johnny was hard to swallow. A new security guard, who was familiar to Dixie, approached the nurses' station, and was given instructions. He posted himself outside their door, giving Dixie some peace of mind. She went to the ER to finish her shift. When things were slow, she would check back on her friends. She knew that the guys from 51's were planning to stop by as well.

Luckily, the evening passed rather quietly. Dixie checked on her friends, and as she suspected, Roy kept a close eye on his best friend, and Johnny slept, albeit restlessly.

Sitting at the desk in the ER, Dixie was catching up on paperwork when she heard a loud scuffle at the entrance.

Trying to restrain a scruffy, unkept biker in handcuffs, was a handsome blonde police officer with the nameplate 'MALLOY.' One the other side, a muddy, sleeve-ripped, equally handsome officer with the nameplate 'REED.' The Biker had a noticeable limp, and a bleeding laceration on his cheek; the muddied officer had a matching one on his forehead. Surprisingly, Officer Malloy was spotlessly clean – right down to the shine on his shoes. The famous Malloy smirk found its way to Pete Malloy's lips when he saw Dixie.

"Well, hey there gentlemen, what brings you to my ER this fine day?" Dixie smiled her best flirtatious smile at Pete.

"Well, Hey Dix! How are you? It seems we have an unruly biker that T.A.'d, and decided to flee on foot." Dixie surveyed the biker, then caught a glimpse of Jim Reed, who was unhappily scowling.

"What happened to your partner?"

"Oh, well it seems our biker friend decided to make a run for it through the muddy brush and my partner was hot on his heels. Luckily, my partner was a track star in high school and college." Pete couldn't resist smirking.

"Are you alright, Jim?" Dixie asked, looking at his forehead, then looking him up and down.

"Perfect…" was Jim's response through gritted teeth, glaring at his partner the whole time. He pinched the bridge of his nose. How much longer was this shift?

"Treatment room 2 for your friend, here. And Jim, Room 4." Jim looked up, startled.

"What? I'm perfectly fine. Just need a shower and this horribly long shift to end." Brackett stepped up alongside Officer Reed and took his elbow.

"You heard the lady. This way, officer." Pete was smirking again as he escorted his handcuffed charge into the treatment room. Security was called, and also stepped into the room.

"It sure was quite a sight seeing the two of them coming out of the woods covered in mud." Pete told Dixie as he sipped some coffee.

"I was wondering how you managed to come out of this without a speck of dirt on you. Jim didn't seem to be too happy about that."

"Well SOMEONE had to follow the pursuit in the patrol car…" The famous Malloy grin flirtatiously prominent on Pete's face once more.

Not long after, Jim emerged from the treatment room with a fresh white bandage on his head, the only clean thing on his body. He looked around and spied Pete chatting with Dixie.

"Ready to go? Hi, Miss McCall." Dixie smiled at how formal and polite the young officer was.

"Please, call me Dixie. All my friends do." Jim smiled.

"You okay?" Pete asked with concern. "You look terrible. No offense." Jim gingerly fingered the bandage.

"Ya. Just a little headache. Just ready to go home. A Hot shower would be great. Thanks for everything Miss, ah, Dixie." Dixie smiled and waved to her favorite policemen.

Back in the patrol car, Jim was unusually quiet. Pete kept looking over at him.

"You sure you're alright?"

"Huh? Oh. Ya. I'm okay. Just thinking about something Dr. Brackett was telling me. Do you know a Detective Miller? Joe Miller?" Pete thought for a moment.

"Not in our division. I've heard of a Joe Miller in another district, pretty shady from what I've been told. Why?"

"Well, it seems that this Miller has been harassing John Gage. John was good friends with Trent Jennings, the officer that died a couple weeks ago. Remember? Mac mentioned it in roll call…"

"Oh, Ya…I remember. What's has he been doing?"

Jim Reed filled his partner in on the events as he knew them. Pete listened intently.

"From what you've told me Jim, Miller seems to have played it very carefully, made sure to cover his tracks and have no one around when he's made his threats. I know you want to help; I do too. We have to be very careful. What are you thinking of doing?"

"I think I'll get cleaned up when we get back, and then go to Rampart and pay John a visit. Do you think you could talk to Mac?"

Pete closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. He knew his partner would want to help. He couldn't blame him. Roy and John had become friends of theirs. Not to mention the fact that there was a cop out there tarnishing everything that they stood for. Pete let out a breath of defeat. He couldn't say no.

"Sure, Jim. I'll see what I can find out. Just remember; If this Miller is a shady as they say, he's beyond dangerous and has nothing to lose. Watch yourself." Jim nodded and gave his partner a half smile. He knew Pete was worried. He just didn't know how much he should worry himself.

Roy had been released earlier that day. John had convinced Dr. Brackett to send Roy home before him; he wanted his friend and family to be safe, no matter what. Roy protested, wanting Johnny to come home with him. Johnny thought it would keep Miller away from them. He wanted to protect his best friend at all cost.

Jim Reed made his way back to Rampart General, and John Gage's room, and lightly knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Jim pushed the door open.

"Hey! Jim! What a great surprise! Hey! What happened to you?" John pointed to Jim's bandage.

"Hi John. How are you feeling? Oh, this? well, an angry biker didn't like the whole jail idea…" Jim touched the white bandage on his head. He shrugged and put his hands in his jacket pockets. He gave his friend a weak smile. The friends began talking and catching up on things – including Detective Joe Miller.

Kelly Brackett entered the room to check on John, and to discuss his release from the hospital. Not having to offer again, John accepted this time, knowing that Roy was already home with his family. Dr. Brackett left to get the paperwork, and John began to get ready to leave.

"I will be so glad to get out of this place! The quicker I call a cab and get home, the happier I'll be!"

"Don't call a cab, John. I can drive you home. I'm headed home myself." Jim Reed offered.

"Sure you don't mind, Jim? That would be great, Thanks!"

Having dressed in record time, listened again to the discharge instructions that John already knew by heart, and signed on the dotted line, John and Jim headed out of the hospital and into the parking lot to Jim's car, and to John's apartment.

Jim Reed pulled into the parking lot of John's apartment building. The two had talked most of the way, continuing their discussion about Joe Miller, and Trent Jennings Death. John was glad to have someone in the police department to confide in and trust. After relaying the facts, Johnny invited Jim upstairs, offering to make him breakfast, to thank him for the ride. Jim could tell that Johnny wanted to talk more, so he accepted.

As they made their way toward his apartment, John slid his key into the lock, and stepped inside. He took a few steps into his semi-dark apartment, with only shards of light filtering in through mostly drawn curtains. Jim was following closely behind.

Suddenly, a pair of hands suddenly grabbed John from behind and slammed him into the wall, attacking him with a barrage of punches. Out of nowhere came the searing white hot pain of fire in his side. He felt a warm stickiness trickling from his side, and through the blur and haziness of his pain, saw the handle of the blade protruding from his wound. John tried to fend off the attacker, but he had been quickly overpowered. Slowly he felt the state of unconsciousness beckon to him. The attacker fled, leaving Johnny bleeding on his kitchen floor. He watched helplessly as his friend fought across the room.

At the same time, a startled Jim tried to reach for his personal revolver, only to have it ripped from his grasp by a second set of large hands, which then doubled him over with a jackhammer-like punch to the stomach. Before he had time to react, he felt the blunt force of something hard collide with his side of his head. Intense pain overtook his senses as he felt his feet being levitated from the floor as he was lifted and slammed backwards into the door-jam and slid down in a heap to the carpet. His vision started to cloud; then gray; then blackness claimed him.

The large shadowy figures bolted for the door, and down the stairs, clearing two to three of them at a time. They made a hasty exit, almost knocking down old Mr. Linton as he hobbled through the doorway.

Once the cleared the building and found themselves on the sidewalk, the searched for the familiar dark sedan, which was parked a few blocks down. They started running toward it, and it backed up, backing into a deserted alley way.

Seemingly out of breath, the exhausted figures approached the dark sedans' car door as it slowly opened. Its passenger climbed out, checking his surroundings, and then back at his acquaintances.

"So, did you get what I asked you to get?" He asked, fingering the top of his revolver, strapped to his right hip.

"We tried, to,..h-honest we did, Mr. M-Miller. But Gage, He came back while we was lookin'. He had someone with 'em." The big hulk of a man looked at his accomplice.

"That's right, Detective Miller, s-sir. We was so close. But don't worry. We roughed 'em up real good for ya. Real good. And his friend too. We won't charge ya for that one. That one is on us. So,…you is gonna pay us still, right? 500 a piece?" Both men looked at each other sheepishly, wondering what would happen.

Joe Miller slammed his car door, and grabbed one of the men by the scruff of the neck, and started walking him deeper into the alley. The other followed. Miller began making a tisking sound.

"Martin, Martin, Martin. I told you I would pay 500 a piece if you brought me that letter. Did you bring me the letter I asked for? DID YOU?" Both men looked at each other, hung their heads, and sadly shook them in unison.

"But, just to show you what a great guy I am, and that you did a good thing by roughing them up,…I'll tell you what I will do for you…" Both men looked up, hopeful at what was to come.

Joe Miller slowly slid his revolver out of his holster and quietly cocked it, placed it into the neck of his flunky Martin, and pulled the trigger.

The accomplice, not really sure about what had just happened, stood frozen for a moment. He turned to run, and Miller took dead aim at his head, and fired.

Miller looked around the alley, and seeing no one, got back into his department-owned vehicle, and drove away...


	7. Chapter 7

Fighting the blurry fog he found himself in, John struggled to find something to focus on. He reached instinctively for throbbing pain in his side. The short, slender blade slid from his wound, and clinked onto the kitchen floor. Blood flowed more freely now; making John groan in pain, bringing him into a bit more awareness. He pressed the heel of his hand into his side…trying to curb the bleeding. Beads of sweat were now glossing John's forehead as he tried to make himself push his way onto an elbow, and eventually try to sit up against the wall to get his bearings. His realization of not having been alone jolted his memory as he scanned the overturned room, and he saw his friend lying motionless by the door.

"J-Jim! Jim..C-can you hear me?" Johnny edged his way as best he could, using his free arm and half crawled to his friend. He reached for his neck, and feeling a weak pulse, released the tentative breath he had been holding. He knew Jim was hurt badly. John crawled over and reached for the phone that was supposed to be on the end table. With the apartment ransacked, the phone was no longer in view. Thinking he was hearing faint sirens in the distance, he made his way back to the unconscious Jim Reed. He tried to get a response from him.

"Com'on Jim. N-need ya to open your eyes. Jim?" John grimaced as he tried to check Jim over, his own injuries rebelling at his every movement. Pinpoints of white light tried to take over His vision, but John stubbornly refused to give in to the haze. The sirens getting closer, John inched closer to his friend, hoping to help him. He kept talking to him, hoping he'd get through.

A flurry of activity surrounded the outside of the apartment, the fallen Officer Reed, and John. After the officers made their cautious sweep with guns drawn and deemed it safe, familiar paramedics cautiously approached their patients. With some difficulty, FF/PM Hogan took over the care of John, who wasn't quite willing to move to far away from Officer Reed. FF/PM Jones immediately went to work on Jim.

"Easy, John. Jonesy's got him. Let's take care of you. Com'on. Calm down. I need to get your vitals. You know how this works. I need you to stay with me. Can you stay awake for me?"

The paramedics worked quickly and efficiently, establishing contact with Rampart, trying to stabilize Jim, administering oxygen, the ordered IV's, getting them secured to backboards, and carefully readied them for transport.

Nosy neighbors gathered in the hallway, and Old Mr. Linton, still hovering in the doorway, was able to direct the officers to the sights and sounds he observed further down the street.

E*E*E*E*E

Roy paced up and down the hall outside Treatment room 2. He continued to gnaw on the cuticle around his index finger, almost making it bleed. He never noticed his friend, Pete Malloy, heading toward him, as he turned to continue his pacing migration. Pete had to say his name a couple times to break through his deep concentration.

"Roy…Roy!" Roy stopped just short of running headlong into Pete.

"I got a call from Dix about Jim and John being attacked? What the hell happened? Any news?" The look of anger and disgust was clearly evident on Pete's face. He didn't like anyone messing with his closest friend and partner. Roy shook his head.

"No, no news yet. Johnny's in 2, they have Jim in room 4. I guess when Jim gave Johnny a lift home earlier, Johnny invited him up for coffee or something, and when they entered his apartment, they surprised whoever was waiting for him, and they attacked both of them. From what I could get from the Paramedics, Jim has a serious head injury, some broken ribs, and maybe a broken wrist. Johnny has some severe bruising, and a stab wound. The Docs are with them now." Pete looked down at the floor and shook his head, and released a frustrated breath. Sensing that they should talk in private, Roy patted Pete's shoulder, and led Pete to the lounge. He knew Dixie would look for them there.

Now it was Pete's turn to pace. Roy pulled two cups off the shelf and filled them with coffee. He set them on the table, hoping to lure Pete to sit down. Luckily, it worked. Pulling the chair out a little bit more roughly than necessary, Pete sat down and cradled his coffee cup. Each waited for the other to break the silence. Roy decided to approach the topic they both had been thinking about.

"You know…this could be Miller's handiwork. But how would he know that John had gone home today?"

"That crossed my mind too…just wish I had a way to prove it. Now our partners are lying in there, in God-knows-what kind of shape. When are we going to know something?" Pete pushed his coffee cup away in frustration, spilling some of its contents.

"Take it easy, Pete. We'll know something soon. What about Jim's wife?"

"She took Jimmy camping with her sister's family. Not sure how to get in touch with her. Jim was going to drive out to meet them day after tomorrow." Pete pushed back from the table and stood again, obviously restless. Roy decided that sitting was overrated as well and decided to wander around the lounge, occasionally poking his head out into the hallway.

E*E*E*E*E

Sitting at his desk flipping through a file, Detective Miller was letting his mind wander trying to make a mental tally of whether or not he had adequately covered his tracks, when a co-worker interrupted his check list.

"Joe,..Hey, JOE!"

Miller jumped, and looked at the squad room door, seeing his fellow detective trying to get his attention.

"WHAT! Can't you see I'm busy? Whatchya want, Roberts?" Miller said curtly.

"I said, you have a visitor. Trent Jennings' widow. She insisted on seeing you. She's in the conference room at the end of the hall." Joe Miller rolled his eyes and emitted a groan. He rose from his chair and made his way to the door.

"Can't you tell her I'm out on a call?"

"I already said you were here. Besides, she's lookin' pretty good…for bein'a grievin' widow and all. If you catch my drift…" Roberts elbowed Miller and waggled his eyebrows. In a flash, Miller grabbed Roberts by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the wall, causing a couple other detectives to rise from their chairs.

"You better close your mouth Roberts before I close it for ya. GOT IT?" Roberts put up his hands in surrender. Miller released him, and forcefully pulled the squad room door open. Roberts straightened his shirt, gathered his dignity, and after a few seconds, left out of the same door.

Joe Miller put his hand on the doorknob, inhaled an I-don't-want-to-do-this breath, and entered the conference room. Before he was fully in the room and could close the door, Linda Jennings was throwing herself into Joe's arms. Roberts caught a glimpse of the display before Miller could get the door shut.

"Linda, WHAT do you think you're doing? STOP IT! Are you crazy? Someone could see us! I told you not to come here! Now sit down!" He huffed at her.

He proceeded to try to peel her arms from around his neck. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and tried to wipe the bright lipstick she had smeared on his lips and cheek. Linda sat dejectedly in the chair.

"Joey, you haven't called or been to the house in over a week…you made me send the kids away to summer camp…I'm bored! You promised you'd come over! Where have you been? My neighbor Joyce said she saw you with some bimbo in the convertible! Is that true?" Anger welled up in Joe's face. He gripped Linda's arm with iron force.

"YOU listen to me, and you listen good. I TOLD you that it isn't good for us to be seen together. You need to trust me. GOT IT?" His eyes flared with anger… an anger she hadn't seen toward her before.

"Owww…Joey…you're hurting me! But you promised…" Linda whined.

"I TOLD you… we have to play our cards right until the check comes. We can't raise any suspicion. You cannot blow this for me. The slightest doubt and we get NOTHING. You understand what I'm saying? It's bad enough I got that dumb paramedic blabbin' about me, and now your attorney sayin' there's a letter or somethin' Trent may have sent him. I won't let him ruin this for me!"

"For you? I thought everything we did was for us, baby! For our future!" Linda looked wide eyed at the detective, beginning to question his motives.

"Of COURSE it's for us…I-I just meant, uh, you know, my career. I can't have him ruin my career and stuff. Don't put words in my mouth. Now you need to get out of here before people get the wrong idea. Maybe I'll stop by later tonight. Will that make you happy? You can make me dinner. Aaannnd, if you're lucky…" Miller lifted his eyebrows a couple times, waiting for Linda to get the hint. Linda giggled, and jumped up and tried to hug him. He quickly pushed her away. She gathered her purse, and tugged on her tight mini skirt, smoothed her overly-tight, low-cut blouse, and headed for the door.

When she opened the door, a few other detectives were mingling in the hall, obviously the work of a scorned Roberts. Although, it would have been hard to miss the "grieving" widow Jennings as she sashayed down the hall to the elevator. After the doors of the elevator closed, as if watching a tennis match, all heads turned in Millers' direction.

"Whatcha lookin at? She just had some questions about some stupid paperwork she didn't understand! Trent handled all that stuff! Jus' get back to work!"

Miller stormed by the onlookers and back into the squad room, oblivious to the snickering. There was a small crack in his faltering façade...


	8. Chapter 8

Dr. Early and Dr. Brackett made their way to the lounge. Both Pete and Roy began talking at the same time, bombarding the men with questions. Kel Brackett held up a hand.

"Take it easy, gentlemen. One thing at a time. I know you are both anxious. I can update you on Johnny, and Joe will give you news about Jim Reed. Okay?" Both men took a deep breath, and sat back down in the chairs at the table.

"Now, Johnny received several contusions and abrasions to his head, back, chest and face. There are luckily no facial fractures. His ribs are bruised, and he has a bruised kidney that we need to watch. He also received a stab wound to the left side, but, again, he was pretty lucky, in that it missed anything vital, but it was a bit deep. He lost quite a bit of blood. We've stitched it up, and started him on IV antibiotics. He is still healing from his previous injuries too, so we want him to stay here for a couple days. I'll let Joe fill you in on Officer Reed." Joe fidgeted with his pen, and then looked at the anxious men waiting to hear what he had to say. Pete Malloy, never being known for patience, interrupted Dr. Early's thoughts.

"Dr. Early, how bad is it? He's not…not…going to…" Pete couldn't finish the sentence. Roy put a comforting hand on Pete's shoulder.

"No Pete, he's serious, but he should make it fine. Jim has a hairline fracture of his skull. We are watching him carefully for any complications. He hasn't regained consciousness as of yet. He has three cracked ribs, and a broken left wrist, which was a clean break, and has already been put in a cast. He also has contusions and abrasions. Looks like our guys put up quite a fight." Pete stood up, along with Roy.

"Can we see them?" Roy asked cautiously.

"Not yet, Roy. We're getting Johnny moved to a room upstairs. He's sedated for now. We're getting ready to run a CAT scan on Reed, and then he'll be moved to ICU. We'll let you know when we get them settled." Brackett patted Roy's arm in an attempt to be comforting. Roy nodded in acceptance, and after thanking them, the two doctors left the lounge.

Neither Roy nor Pete said a word. Pete turned and faced the big window, looking toward the vast parking lot, but he was seeing nothing. Roy lost his gaze into his stone cold coffee. Their reverie was broken by a familiar voice.

"Hey fellas." Dixie's sultry voice was a welcome interruption.

Pete turned from the window and faced Dixie but words wouldn't come. Roy sensed his need to talk.

"I'm gonna go call the guys and JoAnne and fill them in. Get you anything, Pete?" Not getting a reply, as his gaze hadn't left Dixie's, Roy slipped out of the room.

"You alright, Pete?" Pete dropped his gaze to the floor, and gave his head a slight shake. Without a word being spoken, Dixie walked over and put her arms around Officer Malloy. It took a minute, but she broke through the tough exterior, and he slowly lifted his arms, and returned the hug. After a few moments, Dixie released her friend, and he lifted his head, quickly running the back of his hand across his eyes.

"Thanks, Dix." whispered Pete.

"What are friends for?" answered Dixie, with a slight smile.

The lounge door opened, and Sharon Walters, student nurse, poked her head in.

"Excuse me, Miss McCall? There's a phone call for Officer Malloy. Line 3."

"Thank you, Sharon. You can take it over there, Pete." Pete looked over at the wall, and picked up the phone.

"Pete Malloy."

" Yessir. Nossir. He's still unconscious. Holding his own."

I see. Just a moment. Dix, do you have some paper?" Dix grabbed a piece of paper for him to write on.

"Go ahead. spelled M -A- R- T- I- N? " Pete scribbled quickly, nodding in affirmation while he wrote.

"Okay, I'll check it out. I'll let you know what I find out. Thank you, sir." Pete returned the phone to its cradle.

"Dixie, Detectives found the body of a man named Martin in the alley by Johnny's apartment. He had a pay stub from Rampart Hospital in his wallet. Big guy, about 6 foot 4, 250… Does that name sound familiar? Looked like he was wearing a security uniform of some sort." Roy had come back to the lounge, and was listening to Pete's description of this mystery man.

"There was a security guard outside Johnny's door, but he disappeared after John was attacked. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen him before. Could be him."

Roy shifted nervously thinking about the situation. He remembered the guard. His stomach flipped. The fact that he was found dead near Johnny's place was unnerving.

"Found near Johnny's place? When?" Roy questioned.

"Right after they brought John and Jim in, one of John's neighbors, and old man named Linton said he heard some gunfire in the alley down the street. They found Martin's body and that of another unidentified male. Martin was shot at close range through the jugular, and the other male victim was shot in the back of the head. Our witness says he saw a dark 4 door sedan driving away from the scene after the shots were fired, but couldn't make out the plates."

"Mr. Linton is an elderly man that lives in Johnny's building. Johnny watches out for him. He picks up Johnny's mail when John work's overtime or extended shifts, and Johnny makes sure he eats, takes his medication, looks in on him, you know. No one else really pays attention to him all that much."

Roy thought about how Johnny mentioned to him that Mr. Linton didn't have any family. Leave it to John to look after people. Didn't surprise Roy. He decided he should probably make sure Mr. Linton was doing okay with this whole ordeal. He knew John would want him to. He figured he would invite Pete to come along, it would give Pete a chance to ask him some questions about what happened, and he could pick up John's mail at the same time.

E*E*E*E*E

Linda paced in her unkept livingroom. She re-read the letter, poured herself another drink, this time with more liquor than Coca-cola, and chugged it down. She looked at the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes, and walked to the phone, picked it up, dialed some numbers; stopped, and slammed it back down. She made her way to the kitchen counter, and fanned through the stack of letters, trying to find the one she was looking for. It took 3 tries, but she pulled it out of the stack, and she began reading. Hearing a car, she went to the drawn curtains of the front window and peeked out, cursed that it wasn't him, and went back to the liquor cabinet. Deciding that the Coca-cola was a waste of time, she used straight liquor this time. Hearing the back door open, she slammed the glass down on the cabinet.

"Where have you been? I have been waiting over 2 hours for you to get here! I've called your office 3 times!" Linda was watching Joe Miller stride across her livingroom, ignoring her nagging comments.

"I TOLD you I would be here when I was good and ready. I don't see what was so damned important that it couldn't wait…"

"THIS! This is what is so important! I got this letter from the insurance company today! READ IT!" Linda was waving the letter around in Joe's face. He took it from her and read it aloud...

**Dear Ms. Jennings,**

**It has come to our attention that there is some question in regard to the cause of death of your husband, Trent William Jennings. **

**So, until such time that justification of accidental death is established beyond reasonable doubt and question, and not subject to conjecture and question as currently listed on certificate of death, no issuance of insurance premium death benefits can be issued at this time. **

**We are sorry for an inconvenience this may have caused at this time. **

**Please contact our office when this matter has been cleared up so that benefits may be released, and a correct death certificate is issued.**

**Sincerely,**

**David Simms**

**Adjuster/Claims Analyst**

Joe Miller stood there in silence and re-read the letter again.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? What does the death certificate say?" Linda shakily handed him another piece of paper.

"Cause of Death: 'Under Investigation'?! What the…Who's responsible for this..Gage? When did you get this? Why am I just seeing this now?"

"Today, this all came today. What are we going to do, Joey? We were counting on that money. We have big plans, Joey. I've already spent some of the money with my credit card! We planned everything…the gun, the accident, everything. And now my attorney says that Trent changed the Will…"

"WHAT? What are you talkin' about? Changed it how?"

"He called and wants to meet with me day after tomorrow…says he had a meeting with Trent a month ago. I'm scared, Joey, what now? You HAVE to do something…" Linda's continual whining was grating on Joe's nerves.

Shut up Linda, jus' SHUT UP! Let me think!" Joe slammed back his drink and threw the empty glass across the room, and wandered around the room. His world was crumbling.

Now what? Why did he change his Will so suddenly...and just a month ago? And what exactly did Gage know? The letter…he had to find Gage's letter…

E*E*E*E*E

Pete and Roy decided to pay Mr. Linton a visit after making sure their partners were settled in their rooms. Roy knew that Pete would want to question him, and Roy wanted to check on him for Johnny, since he had been through quite an ordeal, and he knew Johnny would be concerned about him.

Roy knocked on Mr. Linton's door, #A-3. "GO AWAY!" was their greeting. Pete and Roy smirked at each other.

"Mr. Linton? It's Roy DeSoto. Johnny's friend, remember me?" A slight shuffling of feet could be heard behind the door, and then a rustling of a chain, and then the door cracked open. An old, aged eye peered through. The door slammed, then a fidgeting with the lock, and then the door opened.

"Mr. DeSoto…what brings you by? Have you seen Johnny? I have his mail…" Mr. Linton backed up to allow Roy to come in. Roy smiled to himself at Mr. Linton's innocent memory lapses.

"Hello Mr. Linton. This is Officer Pete Malloy. He's a friend of Johnny's and mine." Pete extended a hand to shake with Mr. Linton.

"Officer you say? There was a ruckus here earlier…some shootin' too. Nearly plowed me over tryin' to get outta the building. Thought I heard John come in, then some loud stompin' and bangin' and yellin' up there. They ran down the street to the alleyway, that's when I heard shootin'." Mr. Linton reached behind himself to find a chair. Roy helped him sit down. Pete went to get him a glass of water.

"Doing ok, Mr Linton? Need anything?" Mr. Linton shook his head, and waved Roy off. Pete handed him the water.

"Do you remember what these guys looked like? Can you describe 'em?" Pete pulled up a kitchen chair and sat down near the elderly man. Mr. Linton took a long drink of water.

"They was big boys…bigger than you. What so special 'bout 'em?" Roy and Pete exchanged glances. Pete spoke first.

"Mr. Linton, these men broke into John's apartment, and hurt John and my partner. They're going to be okay, but we need to find out what we can about what happened."

"They hurt Johnny? He's going to be alright, ain't he? I have his mail, you know, I have it right over there on the desk…"

"Yessir, he should be fine. I'm sure he appreciates that. We can take it to him. Is there anything you can tell us, anything at all?" Pete spoke calmly.

Mr. Linton searched his elderly mind, hoping to help his paramedic friend that had done so much for him.

"Well, there was a man, in the dark car, was really orderin' the big guys around. Told 'em to even rip up the carpet if they had to. Somethin' about not leavin' til they found it. He gave me the willies. Drove away after the shootin' was done. Didn't see his face, though." Mr. Linton slowly rose from his chair and hobbled to his desk, and took a bundle neatly rubber-banded together, and handed it to Roy.

"Make sure you give this to John. Tell 'em I hope he gets better soon." Roy smiled and took a piece of paper from the desk, and wrote on it, and handed it to the old man.

"Mr. Linton, this is my phone number. If you need anything before John comes home, please call me, okay?" A smile formed on Mr. Linton's face, and he nodded.

"It was nice to meet you, sir. Take care of yourself." Pete gently shook his hand. Both men left his tiny apartment and headed back to the hospital. Neither noticed the dark sedan rounding the corner in the opposite direction toward the apartment complex.

Pulling up to the curb, Miller exited his vehicle, slamming the door. Mr. Linton had left his door ajar, like he sometimes absentmindedly did, when Joe Miller came barreling through the front door of the complex.

"WHO'S THERE?" asked the startled Mr. Linton.

Miller stopped abruptly in his tracks and pushed his door open.

"Hey...I know who you are! You're the bossy one from the dark car!" Linton pointed a boney finger at Detective Miller.

Mr. Linton's eyes grew large as Miller pushed Mr. Linton back into the tiny, cramped apartment and closed the door behind him…


	9. Chapter 9

Roy leaned against the coolness of the steely gray metal of the door frame gazing into the night sky through the open kitchen door facing the back parking lot. It was an unusually clear night, and the traffic noise from the 405 did little to distract his thoughts.

His shift mates were already asleep, including his temporary partner, which thankfully, had been Bellingham, not Brice, the walking rule book. He didn't think he could handle working with someone spouting chapter and verse to him every 5 minutes, especially since his stress level was already at its peak. He knew he should be sleeping, but he just couldn't seem to shut his mind down.

Yesterday had been a nightmare with what had happened to Johnny, and Jim Reed. John was going to be alright, at least physically. He had awakened late in the day, but was quite upset at what had happened. Jim Reed had made little progress, and Pete was working with Sergeant MacDonald to bring Jim's wife home from her camping trip. Pete had found the brochures to the campground at the Reed's home, and, after numerous phone calls, a Park Ranger was able to find their site. After a tense phone call with Jean Reed, Mac set out to bring them home - personally.

The fact that two bodies were found so close to John's apartment was quite unsettling. Pete and Roy both knew that that they had to be involved with the assault on their friends. Now it was just a matter of proving it. If they could only catch Miller. But how? He always seemed to be one step ahead of the game. Roy sighed a heavy sigh, and crossed his arms in front of him. He didn't hear the quiet footsteps padding through the kitchen. He jumped slightly at the familiar voice.

"Trouble sleeping, pal?" Captain Stanley opened the fridge, scanning its contents.

"Sorry, Cap. Didn't mean to wake you. Just can't settle down, I guess." Roy turned back into kitchen after shutting the door.

"You didn't wake me. Just looking for something to get rid of the taste of Kelly's mystery casserole." Hank kept digging, and finally settled for some milk. He went to the cupboard, retrieved two glasses, and set them on the table. Hank poured, and Roy accepted the unspoken invitation and sat down.

"Feel like talking, Pal?" Hank set the cookie jar on the table as well. Roy took a long sip of his milk. Maybe talking about it would help.

E*E*E*E*E

Linda Jennings shakily poured herself a cup of strong black coffee. Opening the cabinet, she pulled out the half empty liquor bottle, poured the strong, amber-colored liquid into her coffee, and took a long drink of her courage.

Today was the day. The meeting her Attorney had requested. She had no one to go with her. Her parents were barely speaking to her. They weren't returning her calls since that day they popped in to check on her, and found the house in total disarray, and caught her and Joe in a "compromising" way. Her friends had fallen away, one by one, and Trent's parents hadn't spoken to her since the funeral. Due to Joe Miller's reign of control, no one in the department dared to come around. She knew that Joe had pushed John Gage away. She hadn't seen or heard from him since that day he came by to do the repairs on her washer. And her children…she was starting to miss them, even though they got in her way most of the time. Trent was the one who was so good with them and spent so much time with them. He was better at taking care of them anyway.

She finished her coffee, and placed her cup on the pile of crusty dishes in the sink. She went to her bedroom closet, trying to decide which of her new miniskirts she should wear. She smiled to herself, remembering the little 'fashion' show she had given Joe a few days ago. She wished he could go with her to the lawyer today. She didn't understand all this legal mumbo jumbo. All she knew was that she wanted her money. The credit card bills had started to arrive and the bills were piling up, and she had no money coming in to pay them.

After settling on an outfit that didn't leave much to the imagination, Linda went to the bathroom to work on her makeup – quite a process these days. After over-teasing her hair and leaving a fog of hairspray lingering in her wake, Linda deemed herself ready for her meeting, began her frantic search for her keys with words worthy of a seasoned sailor, and headed out to her car.

E*E*E*E*E

Dixie quietly crept into Jim Reed's room in the ICU. The steady blip of monitors was the only consistent noise to be heard in the room, unless you counted the rhythmic breathing of his partner, Pete Malloy, who was propped precariously in a chair with his head against the wall. Dixie tried not to smile at Pete's determination to bend the rules to stay with his partner. Their loyalty to each other reminded her of two other partners and friends she knew. She proceeded to the bedside of the fallen officer, and began to take his vitals, even though the duty nurse had already taken them and hour previously.

Pete stirred, and jolted himself awake with the realization of where he was and why. He used the heels of his hands to remove the sleep, or lack thereof, from his tired blue eyes.

"How's he doing?" He asked, hopefully.

"His vitals are steady. You really should go home, Pete. You're exhausted. You'll be a patient yourself if you're not careful."

"I'm fine Dix. I need to be here. Jim is safer with me here."

"Pete. There's a guard outside the door, we're monitoring him closely. You know I'll call as soon…"

"Look, Dix. I already told you. I'm fine. I'm staying. That's final." Pete interrupted. He drew in a breath to gather himself.

"I'm sorry Dixie. I didn't mean to snap at you. I guess this whole thing is just getting to me. I just want to nail this Miller guy, and I'm worried about Jim." Dixie gave him a smile of understanding.

"G-go h-home…s-sl-sl-eeep. G-grrouchyyy…" came a faint voice from the prone figure in the bed.

"Jim? JIM!" Pete jumped from his chair and to the bedside of his best friend instantly. Dixie hit the call light. The famous Malloy smirk returned.

Jim Reed was going to be okay.

E*E*E*E*E

Linda Jennings fidgeted with her purse as she sat in the overstuffed upholstered chair in the law offices of Smith, Carlson and Carlson. Winston Carlson Sr., Attorney at Law, sat behind the big mahogany door at the end of the hall, holding her fate in his hands. The secretary tapped away on her typewriter, occasionally glancing up when Linda tried to tug on her overly short mini-skirt.

A loud buzz of the secretary's phone made Linda gasp and drop her purse.

"Yes, Mr. Carlson. Certainly." Hanging up, the neatly groomed, modestly dressed woman rose from her desk and approached Linda Jennings.

"Mr. Carlson will see you now. If you'll follow me." Linda gave a nervous nod, picked up her purse, and rose from her chair. Following the secretary down the hall, it seemed to be the longest walk Linda ever took. She passed several doors before reaching the large door with the engraved brass plate that read:

**WINSTON CARLSON SR.**

** Senior Law Partner**

All of a sudden, she didn't feel so good. The secretary opened the enormous door, and announced Linda, directed her to a chair, offered Linda a beverage, which she refused, and the secretary left.

Mr. Carlson sat behind his very ornate desk, with rows of books decorating the wall behind him. He was a man of means. His well-tailored suit looked as if it cost more than her car. His graying hair spoke of his experience. His glasses rested on the end of his nose, as he examined the papers dispersed on his desk in front of him. After a few minutes of awkward silence, He peered over the top of his glasses to view the "grieving" widow.

"Mrs. Jennings. I extend my sympathies for your loss. It was my great honor and privilege to know Trent over the years, and work with him both personally and professionally. He was a man of great integrity and honor. He will be greatly missed, both personally, and within the department."

Still looking at Linda, and not getting a response other than her nibbling on her poorly manicured nails, the attorney decided to continue. He cleared his throat to prevent himself from saying something he shouldn't.

"I called this meeting today to discuss the state of Trent's affairs and changes that were made before his untimely demise. I met with him approximately 5 weeks ago, and we finalized the details of these documents that I am about to show you." Mr. Carlson slid some papers in front of Linda. She looked at them, and looked at him like a deer in headlights, not sure what she was looking at.

"What is all this? What is 'Change of Beneficiary?' What is a Trust Account? These have Benjy and Lisa's names on them…and Trent's parents, and John Gage is listed if Trent's parents pass away? What is this?" Linda felt herself starting to hyperventilate.

"Mrs. Jennings, I'm going to be straightforward. Trent was aware of your, shall we say, extra-curricular activities with one of his colleagues. He filed these papers, along with with a motion for temporary guardianship, for the children to be with his parents and had his assets changed, leaving them to Benjamin William Jennings, and Lisa Ann Jennings in the event of his death. Since they are minor children, His parents are listed as their legal guardians and executors with John Roderick Gage listed as secondary guardian if something were to happen to his parents. The money goes into a trust to take care of the children. His pension and benefits will be deposited into that fund every month for their care until they reach the age of consent, which in this state is currently 18, and any insurance benefits and life insurance pay outs will go into this fund."

He waited for her to respond.

"What does that mean? I've been waiting for the life insurance check to come through. I have bills to pay, and his paychecks, they haven't been coming in the mail either. I'm starting to get late notices, I know I'm suppose to get some sort of checks still…" Linda was still confused.

Mr. Carlson was running out of patience.

Mrs. Jennings. You WON'T be receiving any further paychecks. Trent changed all that before he died. Do you understand? What you have in the bank, in your checking account, is ALL there is. Trent provided for your children and THEIR future. I suggest that if you have bills to pay, that you might consider getting a job, or perhaps if you are making a life with your gentleman friend, then maybe he could help you until you can get on your feet. As for the life insurance, It is my understanding that THAT is under investigation, and you DON'T want to get me started on that subject. Now, I believe our time is up. If you'll excuse me, I have an 11:00 golf game at the club. My secretary will show you out. You'll be billed for my time."

Mr. Carson rose from his leather chair, and left the office. The secretary stood in the doorway, waiting impatiently to escort Linda out of the office, but Linda sat frozen in her chair, unable to move...


	10. Chapter 10

John walked slowly through the main entrance of his apartment building. He made his way slowly past A-3, and thought it unusual that Mr. Linton's door was tightly shut. He only did that if he was at the market, or on the occasional errand. Deciding to check on him later, John walked toward the stairs and made his way carefully up each one, still guarding his throbbing side, which was beginning to match the drumming in his head.

He slid his key into the lock, and momentarily rested his head on the door. He dreaded the upheaval he knew he would find on the other side of the door. He vaguely remembered how trashed the condition his apartment had been in when he had been taken out on a gurney. He remembered how he and Jim fought for their lives. He drew in a shaky breath, knowing he would try to handle what he could, as he could. He fought with the memories of what happened that day, the struggling with being unable to help his friend, Jim Reed.

He slowly opened the door, and slid his hand along the wall, feeling for the light switch. After clicking on the light, Johnny stepped into the room, looked around, and was transfixed by what he saw.

As he scanned the room, Everything was neat and tidy. His coffee table was no longer overturned, his furniture was in its proper place, kitchen cleaned, and all remnants of the fight were gone. John stood there in awe. Suddenly, he sensed someone behind him.

"Hey, Junior. I figured you were here." Roy was standing in the doorway. Johnny spun around to the familiar voice, but a little too quickly, losing his balance a bit. Roy quickly stepped up and took his arm and led him to the chair.

"You okay, Johnny? Here, sit down. You shoulda stayed a bit longer at Rampart. Dixie told me you decided to leave A.M.A." Roy went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water for his friend.

"M-Okay. Jus' couldn't stay there anymore." Johnny put his head back on the chair and closed his eyes waiting for the room to quit spinning.

"You did all this, didn't you. I-I don't know how to thank…"

"Hey, that's what brothers are for. Your fridge is stocked, and there's a couple of JoAnne's casseroles in the freezer." Roy interrupted, and gave his friend a slight, reassuring grin.

Johnny swiped the back of his hand over his eyes to clear away the emotion from the corner of his eyes, hoping Roy wouldn't notice, but he did. Roy sat back on the couch, hoping to give his partner a chance to collect himself. He knew how much this was upsetting him. Roy was hoping John would take the opportunity of this time they had with no interruptions to let Roy be the sounding board for his best friend. After a few minutes, Johnny obliged.

E*E*E*E*E

Linda sat in her darkened livingroom, curled up in the corner chair. An empty liquor bottle lay at her feet, and black streaks of mascara stained her sleep deprived face. The papers given to her at the attorney's office were also strewn around the floor, intermingled with used tissues. The phone at her elbow sat quiet for now, but she had practically worn the numbers off the dial by her trying to reach Joe Miller countless times. She debated about driving to his apartment, but had remembered him telling her not to come there, as he wanted them to be careful about his neighbors talking. She considered going back to the station, but he warned her about embarrassing him there as well. She was becoming desperate. She had to talk to him.

Leaning against the convertible in the parking lot, Joe Miller crushed the embers of his fourth cigarette with the tip of his shoe. He no longer knew the meaning of a good nights' sleep. He didn't answer the phone at his apartment anymore, as it was usually Linda Jennings and her relentless whining. He had planned it all perfectly, but it was beginning to crumble. It should have been easy. Seduce Linda, get her to sign some assets over to him, get the money, and then move on. He had done it before without a hitch. He wasn't expecting all these complications. Why wouldn't Gage go away, or better yet, just die? Detective Miller could no longer trust others to take care of this – he was going to have to do this himself.

As for Linda, she was no longer useful. She was becoming a huge liability now…

E*E*E*E*E

John eased himself up from the chair, opened the door and glanced down the hall. He looked at his watch, closed the door, and sat back down with a pronounced sigh.

"Sick of me already, Junior?" Roy joked. Johnny looked at his watch again. "Hellllloooo, earth to Johnny. What's wrong?"

"Hmmm? Oh. Sorry. It's just that Charlie, er, ah, Mr. Linton usually checks in with me during the day, especially after he's been out. I'm just wondering if I should go check on him, especially since I've been away for a couple days. His door was closed when I went by, and he usually leaves it open if he's home or awake." John ran his fingers nervously through his hair, and Roy sensed John's concern for his friend.

"Why don't we go down and check on him? Do you have a key?" John was already up and getting a key from the drawer in the kitchen. With the key in hand, the men headed down to apartment A-3.

John knocked repeatedly on the door marked "A-3" with no response.

"Mr. Linton? It's John." He waited. "Charlie? Just checkin' on ya…you in there?" He knocked again, a little harder this time. A young voice in the buildings' doorway spoke.

"You lookin' for ol' Mr. Linton?"

"Oh, hey Billy." John greeted young Billy Scolari from C-4 leaning on his bike in the hall, making his way outside. "Have you seen 'im?"

"No, not for a coupla days. Kinda weird, too. He usually yells at me fer draggin' my bike in the hall, or slammin' the door a few times a day. Hasn't yelled at me in over two days." Billy shrugged as he looked at the closed door. "Maybe he's away or somthin'. Well, see ya." Billy turned and dragged his bike the rest of the way out of the building, and rode off.

Johnny looked at Roy with a bit of panic, and shakily tried to put the key in the lock. Roy took the key from him and slid it in the lock, and turned it. Opening the door, they were hit with the smell of a dead Charles Linton.

Knowing what had to be done, Johnny slowly approached the stilled man to whom he had become attached, and reached carefully to that place on Charlie Linton's neck for his pulse, and grasped his wrist instinctively at the same time, already knowing that it wouldn't be there. Johnny closed his eyes in sadness and offered a silent prayer for this old man who had no one to mourn his passing. He reached for the tattered afghan on the back of the chair and graciously covered his elderly friend while Roy finished up on the phone in the kitchen with the police. Johnny gently patted Charlie Linton's arm.

"You can rest now, my friend." Johnny whispered. He slowly stood up, as Roy joined his partner.

"You okay?" Roy asked his friend. John barely nodded. Roy continued. "We should probably wait outside for them to get here. With the way this apartment looks, we shouldn't touch anything." Johnny and Roy stepped around the papers and overturned and broken items that were tossed around the tiny apartment, and pulled the door almost closed when they stepped out to wait for the police.

Johnny leaned heavily against the far wall of the hallway holding his side, and was once again reminded of the throbbing in his head. John blew out a breath to help regulate the pain that was building in his body, which didn't go un-noticed by Roy. Roy led John to the stairs to make him sit. Surprisingly, there was no protesting.

John dropped his head into his hands. He had had enough. Enough death. Enough of his friends being hurt. Enough of Miller. He was going to find a way to stop him.

E*E*E*E*E

Joe Miller's anger was evident in his demeanor as he stormed into Linda Jennings house and slammed the door with enough force to shake the ornate mirror from the wall and onto the floor, shattering it into countless jagged pieces. The non-stop phone calls and messages he received both at home and at the station had reached an embarrassing level, and had caught the attention of his co-workers and his superiors. Linda was still sitting in the same chair, only having vacated it to replace her empty bottle of liquor with a new, stronger one. About a third of the way through this one, Linda had abandoned the use of a glass, and was drinking straight from the bottle.

"J-joey! C-commeeeer! Gimmee a k-issss…wann-wannadrink?" Linda slurred, Her speech barely understandable. She tried to stand up to greet Joe, but stumbled and fell into a heap onto the messy floor. She started to laugh at herself, and then dissolved into a fit of hysterical tears. Joe shook his head in disgust. When she talked, her words all ran together.

"Izzzalllgone…allofit..the m- money….can't get the insurance money…g-gonna shut my lightsssoff….not gonnahave wat-water…'I'm-I'm ovvverdrawnnn…" Linda began flailing her arms around. "The kidsss….hafta go to court for'em…" Linda slumped over on the floor. "Whatzzthe use?"

Joe Miller stood there, saying nothing to help, comfort, or console her. He did, however, see an opportunity. He went to the kitchen, and took a semi-clean glass from the counter, and found a nearly full prescription bottle in the cupboard. Reading the label, he smiled to himself, emptied the contents into his hand, put them in the glass, filled it with some strong liquor, stirred it with his finger until the pills dissolved, and then returned to the livingroom, wearing a different smirk on his face, carrying the concoction.

"Ah, come on now, Linda. It'll be okay. This is only temporary. We can fix this, it's just some red tape with the coroner's office. Tell you what. I'll loan you some money to get you caught up on some things, and I'll talk to someone at the coroner's office, and get things straightened out. Things will be better in no time. Didn't I tell you that I would fix things? Com'on Baby. Here. Let's sit you up." Joe Miller helped a whimpering Linda sit on the couch, as he feigned sympathy for the woman he now had no use for. "There we go. Here. drink this, you'll feel better…that's my girl…drink it all up…" a smile crept eerily into the corners of Joe Millers' mouth.

E*E*E*E*E

After answering the necessary questions the police had asked of him, John had quietly slipped upstairs leaning heavily on the banister for support back to his apartment. Roy was still talking with the officers, and the paramedics and other officials that had been sent to clear the scene.

In the quiet of his apartment, John sat wearily both in body and emotion, onto his couch. Rubbing his temples, He wondered how there would be a resolution to this nightmare. As he leaned he head back onto the couch, he spied the stack of mail sitting on the end table that Roy had left for him, and he began to thumb through it. A certain letter with familiar handwriting caught his eye, sending a chill down his spine. He pulled it from the pile and stared at the envelope, starting to shake. Carefully, he opened it, and slid out the letter and hesitantly unfolded it.

_John-_

_Well, I guess if you're reading this, I'm not around anymore. I know, creepy. I left this letter with my attorney to mail to you in case anything happened to me. _

_First of all, I don't know how to thank you for all you've done for me, Johnny. When we met, when I was in the Police Academy and you were a Rescue Man, I knew we were destined to be friends. You stood beside me on my wedding day, drove us to the hospital when Benjy was born, and thankfully, you and Roy helped bring our Lisa into the world when we didn't give ourselves enough time to get to the hospital, and she decided to make her appearance in the ambulance on the way to the hospital instead. The milestones in my life were better because of a great friend like you, and I can't thank you enough. _

_I think about the times we fixed things, built things, (and yes, wrecked a few things!) had some great cookouts with Roy and Jo, tried to fix you up with female friends, (I tried buddy, really I did!) and the times you made me sweat it out sitting next to your hospital bed when you were hurt, or those days you stood by Linda and the kids when I was injured a couple years ago. I have thanked God numerous times for the faithful friend I have found in you._

_So, with all that said, I have one final favor to ask of you. I have written this letter to tell you that, as you must know by now, I have my suspicions about Joe Miller, a detective in my precinct and Linda._

_I discovered six months ago that Linda was having an affair with Joe. I also discovered that Linda had taken a large insurance policy out about 4 months ago on my life in the amount of $250,000. _

_When you and I went on our camping trip three months ago, I hid a couple tape recorders in the house, and taped some conversations (among other things!) between Joe and Linda, and those tapes revealed different ideas about how to get "rid" of me, and wanting to collect the insurance money._

_Johnny, I trust you, and your judgment. If my attorney mailed this letter to you, that means there was some question about my death. Please, PLEASE see to it that my death is investigated. In the envelope with this letter, is a key to a safe deposit box at First Savings and Loan on Manchester and Mariner, and it's Box number 1206. All the evidence I have collected these past several months: Papers and documents from my attorney, pictures from the private detective I hired, the tapes, names of people to contact at the precinct, all of it is in there.  
_

_There is also a spare set of keys to the convertible and the title – I want you to have it, Johnny. It would mean a lot to me. It's as much yours as it is mine. You put as much work and sweat into it as I did. Just promise me to tell Benjy all about it one day – make sure he remembers his dad and what I stood for, and what he and Lisa meant to me. Be sure to share the stories with them about how excited I was for them to come into this world, the plans I had, and still have for them – how life can truly be unfair sometimes, but they can rely on the people that truly love them, and that if they work hard, study hard and pray hard, they will go far in life, and that the sky's the limit. No matter where they are or what they decide to do, their daddy will always be with them, and will always love them. can you do that for me, Johnny?_

_Thanks again, buddy for everything – for being the faithful friend I needed – I only hope that I was half the friend to you that you were to me._

_Love you, buddy-_

_Trent_

Johnny's fragile grip on his emotions slipped away as he slid off the couch and onto the floor, letting his back rest against the couch. All his pent up emotion found its escape. Roy entered the apartment as Johnny sat with his face buried in his arms that rested on his drawn up knees, his body shaking. Roy went to his friend, and knelt beside him. Johnny handed him the letter, and Roy read it with care. After finishing the letter, Roy swiped away his own tear, and put an arm around his grieving friend. He knew he needed to let out all that he had pent up over the past few weeks. The stress of losing Trent, the attempts on his life and that of his and Jim Reed's lives, the discovery of Mr. Linton, and now this letter confirming all the evidence against Linda Jennings and Joe Miller. Johnny had kept things just below the surface and needed to let it out. Roy sat with his best friend until he was sullen and quiet.

"I need to go to the bank, Roy. I hafta do this for Trent. Then I'm going to the Precinct. It's over for Miller. I'm gonna see to it." Johnny spoke in a hushed but determined tone.

Johnny pulled himself up off the floor and grabbed his keys off the end table, and with fire in his eyes, he headed out the door…


	11. Chapter 11

Johnny headed in a hastened pace for his Rover, paying no attention to Roy's beckoning voice pleading from behind him.

"Junior, wait…Johnny! Hold up. Johnny we need to talk about this. Johnny, stop! JOHN!"

Without even as much as a sideways glance, John hurriedly entered his Rover, slammed the door, and sped out of his parking space, leaving Roy standing in his burnt rubber-clouded wake.

"DAMN IT!" cursed Roy, as he rushed to his car, fumbling for his keys at the same time. Finally finding the right one, he jumped into his Porsche without opening the door, and lit out after John, making his own trail of burned rubber in hopes of catching his impulsive partner before he did something drastic.

John reached the bank, and was talking with the bank manager by the time a red-faced Roy had joined him. Roy maintained enough control to not yell in the quiet solitude of the bank, at least until the manager was retrieving his copy of the bank deposit key needed to open the box. In the manager's absence, Roy whispered to his partner as loudly as he could without actually yelling.

"Just what the hell did you think you were doing? You can't possibly think you're gonna nail Miller on your own, you are in no shape to…"

"Mm-fine, Roy. I hafta do this...Please." Johnny interrupted. The bank manager returned with the key, skeptically eyed the men, especially John, and once again looking over the signature card in his hand. Johnny stood from his chair, swaying a bit. Roy softened his tone, and helped his friend. Roy nodded.

"Coming partner? I don't think I Can do this without you." Roy and John exchanged a look of trust that true partners and friends share. Roy joined his friend, and they headed toward what Johnny would discover in that deposit box. As Roy and Johnny entered the cubicle, the bank manager quickly retreated to his office. He flipped through his Rolodex to find a number, flipping nervously through the index cards. He stepped up and peeked out his office door, making sure he wouldn't be disturbed, and went back to dial the number, drumming his fingers on his desk until someone picked up on the other end. He removed his hanky from his pocket to mop the sweat from his brow. Placing it back in his suit pocket, He cupped he free hand over the receiver, trying to muffle his voice.

"H-hello? C-could I speak with Detective Miller please? H-he's not? No, no message, I-I'll try his r-residence."

E*E*E*E*E

Pete Malloy sat in front of Mac's desk, looking over some papers, flipping through some file folders. Mac shook his head as he entered his office when he saw one of his best officers and friend spending his day off researching the events of the past few days. He knew that the headstrong Officer Malloy, once he got something in his head, especially when it came to his friend and partner, wasn't going to easily let go of it.

"Hey, Pete! It's your day off, isn't it? Let me guess…doing a little detective work?" Mac inquired.

"I figured a little reading wouldn't hurt. It's amazing what you can find out when you put your mind to it." Pete set another file aside and grabbed another one, jotting some notes on his notepad as he went.

"How's Reed doing? I heard he's getting discharged today." Mac asked as he eyed his now un-organized office, thanks to Pete. He shook his head in disapproval.

"He's doing a lot better. Already driving Jean crazy about getting back to work, even if it is desk duty for awhile. He wants to work on this case and help John Gage." Pete skimmed through a few more files, not missing a beat as he talked.

"Well, just make sure he has clearance from his doctor before he comes back to work. He was significantly injured at John Gage's apartment. He gave us quite a scare."

"You're tellin' me. I'm hoping these files I picked up from a friend at Precinct 7 give me some clues. I want to go over them and get them back before they notice that they're gone."

"Precinct 7? How…Who...?" Sergeant MacDonald was flabbergasted that Pete had these files. Every fiber of his being was screaming internally at him about protocol.

"Let's just say, someone over there owed me a BIG favor, and I called them on it, and we'll leave it at that. Okay?" Pete flashed his famous Malloy half-smirk at his boss, hoping that their years of loyalty and friendship would win out. Mac threw up a hand in defeat, not wanting to know anything further, and turned on his heels and left the office. Pete went back to scouring the files, hoping to uncover the evidence he needed to nail Detective Joe Miller for hurting his best friend Jim Reed, and John Gage.

E*E*E*E*E

Sitting in the private cubicle, John and Roy sat in total silence. Beads of sweat formed on John's forehead, and were beginning to make an appearance on his upper lip. His grayish pallor was beginning to concern his partner. He knew that Johnny felt he had to do this, but Roy also knew it wasn't going to be easy.

Johnny smoothed his hand along the sleek metal of the box, letting the enormity of its contents sink in. Memories of his friend began to overwhelm his soul, as a solitary tear slid down his cheek. Roy decided to let his friend have all the time he needed with his memories. After a few moments, Johnny tried to clear the emotional lump from his throat.

"Trent didn't deserve any of this, ya know?" John was barely able to speak. "He was so excited when he graduated from the police academy. He was so sure that he was gonna clean up this town. All by himself if he had to. I remember how nervous he was on their wedding day. He had such big dreams…and then Benjy came! I don't think his feet touched the ground for weeks!" Another tear slid down, and John quickly wiped it away.

"Remember when we helped bring Lisa into the world, Roy? I thought we were gonna have to do CPR on Trent that day!" Roy joined Johnny and smirked at the memory, remembering how they had helped deliver the baby in the ambulance alongside the freeway on the way to the hospital. John's expression diminished into sadness as he once again glared at the box in front of him. He fiddled with the key, hesitating to open the box.

"You don't have to do this, Johnny. We can just give this to the authorities and let them handle it. You need to be taking it easy. You and I both know that this has gotten way outta hand. I'm sure Trent never expected any of this when, um…"

"I HAVE to, Roy. Just like I would do it for you. I'd move heaven and earth to do this for you, too. But I want you to promise me that after we're done here, that you'll go home to Jo and the kids. I can't risk anything happening to you, or them. I couldn't take it if anything happened…"

"Nothing's gonna happen to me, Junior, I promise." Roy stopped John from finishing his thoughts. He wasn't going to let John do this alone. He gave John a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

John took a deep breath, and slid the small slender key into the box, and turned it until he heard the latch click. Swallowing heavily, Johnny lifted the lid as though it weighed 50 pounds more than its mere few ounces.

As the box lay open with its contents visible, Johnny's eyes darted about, not knowing which item to focus on first. His breathing quickened, and his chest tightened as he saw a stack of envelopes labeled neatly with the "Smith, Carlson, & Carlson" raised letterhead return address in the upper left corner. As he flipped through and read each of them, Trent's writing on the outside of them indicated their contents:

**DEED TO HOUSE & CONTRACT FOR SALE**

**CAR TITLE – STATIONWAGON**

**CAR TITLE – CONVERTIBLE – FOR J. GAGE**

**GUARDIANSHIP/CUSTODY PAPERS**

**BANK STATEMENTS/FINANCIAL RECORDS**

**TRUST FUND – BENJY & LISA**

**DETECTIVES BERGMAN AND JOHNSON/PRECINCT 7 – EVIDENCE**

**COPY OF LIFE INSURANCE PAPERS**

**PENSION/BENEFICIARY PAPERS**

Johnny carefully set aside the large manila envelope that had Trent's parents' names written on it, envelopes with his children's names on them, and came across pictures of he and Trent together, before and after pictures of the car, the two of them sitting on the finished car together, and then, there they were: A stack of horribly disgusting, revealing photos. His stomach did a sickening roll. Johnny squeezed his eyes shut after he saw the pictures that he knew had broken his friends' heart and spirit. He stopped for a moment, and pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping that the pounding in his head would subside.

"You alright?" Roy asked of his hurting friend. Roy felt like he was intruding on something that should be private, but he knew Johnny needed him right now. John had to be honest, and gave his head a bit of a negative shake. Seeing all of this was making him sick Thinking about what Linda and Joe Miller had put Trent through made the bile churn even more in his already uneasy stomach.

A collection of tapes lay menacingly in the box, reminding John that this was the evidence needed to prove Trent's death wasn't an accident. Feeling suddenly overwhelmed and no longer able to keep control of his stomach, John felt the need to escape the confines of the cubicle that was quickly closing in on him. Asking Roy to wait for him, John left to find the restroom.

E*E*E*E*E

Joe Miller sat at the counter of the seedy diner, drinking yet another cup of coffee. He lit another cigarette, and poured more sugar from the dispenser into his coffee cup. He was coming unglued. His knee bounced nervously on the ledge of the stool. He looked at his watch. He knew he should go to the precinct, but decided to call in – again. What if Gage showed up there? What exactly did he know? He had to try to get to him first. He needed a plan. He had to think. He needed to be alone. He finished his coffee, smoked his cigarette down to the filter, and threw some spare change on the counter and walked out. He looked around nervously before getting into the convertible, and slid into the driver's seat. Seeing a buxom blonde standing on the corner in high heels, leather hot pants and bright red lipstick distracted him from the task he had set for himself for the day. Pulling the car up to the curb in front of her, Miller nodded in her direction, and she walked toward the car. The overly-bleached blonde reached down and opened the car door and slithered into the passenger seat. Her cheap perfume mixed with the smell of the leather tufted seats in what used to be Trent Jennings convertible. Miller leered at the overly made up woman, and leaned over and whispered something in her ear, causing her to giggle hideously. He revved the motor and drove away from the curb, heading in the direction of his apartment.

E*E*E*E*E

John had just finished dry heaving in the toilet for the third time, only then remembering that he hadn't eaten in almost a day and a half. He couldn't. As the spasms finally subsided, he stood up to go splash cold water on his face, when another wave of dizziness set in. He leaned heavily on the tiled wall of the restroom, and made his way to the sink. Turning on the cold water, Johnny let the water run through his fingers. Pinpoints of white light invaded his vision, as things began to fade to gray. He tried to splash the cool water on his face to revive himself, but it was too little too late, as the grayness faded to black and Johnny sank slowly to the floor...


	12. Chapter 12

Roy nervously checked his watch. He would have paced had there been enough room in the small, square cubicle. He wondered what was keeping his partner. He just assumed he was taking a few extra minutes to get himself together. He dragged his fingers through his blonde-ish hair, feeling the fatigue from the day. He looked at his watch again, and brought the wrist baring his watch up to his ear, making sure it was working. Time had to be standing still.

The mousey bank manager hung up the phone a second time, seemingly proud of the task he had finally accomplished. He rose from his neatly organized desk, straightened his tie, and left his office to go use the restroom before addressing some pressing bank issues.

Stepping into the men's room, he was taken aback to see one Mr. John Gage lying on the tile floor. He smiled at his luck. Not bothering to check on the motionless man, the bank manager backed out the same way he came, and made his way to the private area where he knew Mr. Gage's friend was waiting, and poked his head into the cubicle where Roy was impatiently waiting for his partner.

"E-excuse, me, sir? I believe your friend is in need of your assistance. He seems to have taken ill. I will keep an eye on your things in here. Don't worry. I'll lock everything back up for you. Go ahead." A panicked expression found Roy's face. The whiney voice continued.

"He's in the men's room. Over there." The manager pointed his boney finger toward the restrooms. Roy nodded at the jumpy man, and made his way to his best friend.

The bank manager smoothed the front of his suit and re-adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses as he peered into the metal box…

E*E*E*E*E

Roy sat at his kitchen table, rubbing his temples. JoAnne refilled his Iced Tea, and set two white tablets in front of him, patting his tired shoulders. Looking at his wife, Roy gave her a weak smile and a questioning look. Before he could open his mouth to verbalize his thoughts, JoAnne answered.

"Roy DeSoto, I've loved you long enough to know when you have a headache. How long ago did Dr. Brackett leave?" Roy popped the Tylenol into his mouth and chased them down with the Iced Tea. Looking at his watch, he followed his wife with his eyes as she sat at the table to join her exhausted husband.

"About 10 minutes ago or so. He wasn't too happy about Johnny not being at Rampart. I guess I have to agree with him. Johnny's been through so much lately. I'm so glad that bank manager locked everything up safely in that safe deposit box. Johnny can deal with all that stuff later when he's stronger. Brackett gave Johnny something to make him sleep, so he'll be out for hours. Now if I can get him to rest for the next day or two, and eat like he should…"

"Well, leave the eating part to me. As for you mister, you march upstairs and get some rest yourself. The kids aren't due home for another few hours, and I have some errands to run, so it will be nice and quiet." JoAnne ordered.

"Oh really? Nice and quiet with no kids, Mrs. DeSoto?" Roy waggled his eyebrows at his pretty wife.

JoAnne rolled her eyes at her suggestive husband.

"You have a one track mind, you know that? You need your rest, Roy. Look at you. You're exhausted." A boyish grin broke out on his face, which melted his wife's heart.

"At least stay with me until I fall asleep. Please?" JoAnne's face found a smile of her own. Even after all these years, his crystal blue eyes could still melt her soul. He reached for her hand, and taking it, she followed him upstairs. Errands could wait. Their time together was always a precious gift, considering Roy's dangerous profession. She was feeling quite blessed.

E*E*E*E*E

Detective Joe Miller walked into Precinct 7 as if he didn't have a care in the world. Several officers looked right through him as if he didn't exist, and others looked at him with the loathing and disrespect that he was truly deserving of. He wasn't swayed by either. His boss saw him walk by, and beckoned him into the office. A wave of nervousness settled on him, but he shook it off, quickly getting his explanation ready.

"Miller! Where have you been? You haven't checked in, the guys have had to pick up YOUR slack, the rumor mill have been running rampant, and frankly, your performance has been less than satisfactory."

"Ahh, sir, ahh, actually, I have been following some leads, and ah, haven't had a chance to check in. I was under the weather a coupla days too, and um, didn't wanna spread it around. Oh, and I ah, had a hard time when my best bud, you know, he died, and it was really uh, hard to deal with, and his family was a mess, so, um, yeah. But, everything is much better, so here I am. Okay?" Miller thrust his hands deep into his pants pockets to disguise his nervousness.

He removed his hands, and patted his shirt, searching for something. Finding his beloved smokes, he slid a cigarette into his mouth and lit it with a shaky hand. He nervously fidgeted from one foot to the other. The deafening silence from his boss made him lose eye contact, and look at the floor.

"Actually Miller, No, it's NOT okay. I am, quite frankly, sick of your nonsense. Too many bad things have been happening lately, and when they do, your name keeps coming up with them. So, as of this moment, you are suspended WITHOUT pay for two weeks. Your return is subject to approval by the review board, which is set for two weeks. Now, I would like your badge and your weapon." Miller glared at his superior for a few moments. "NOW, Miller."

"YOU'RE GOING TO REGRET THIS BERGMAN! I SWEAR TO YOU! MARK MY WORDS!" Joe Miller pulled his gun off his waistband, and his shield out of his wallet, and slammed both with such force onto Sergeant Bergman's desk, that his coffee cup shook, and a stack of files fell to the floor. Miller slammed the door to His bosses' office, drawing more attention to himself, not that his shouting hadn't already brought spectators into the hallway. Miller stomped down the hallway yelling and cursing until the closing of the elevator door muffled his expletives. Bergman shook his head at Joe Miller's childish antics.

Detective Johnson watched Joe Miller storm off, and walked into his friends office after hearing his rant.

"Wow. You worried? He just threatened you, ya know. With all the rumors…" He looked at his friend, shaking his head with concern.

"Nah, he's just blowin' steam. It'll be alright. He'll cool off." Bergman took Millers' gun and badge, and the necessary paperwork to go lock up the items. Johnson followed.

Miller stood in the department's parking garage, seething with anger at what had happened. He leaned against the wall, plotting his next move. _'It was Gage…He did this. He got to them. I'll deal with him next.' _ Miller thought to himself.

He looked around the parking garage at the people that lingered there. He waited. He smoked the rest of his pack until he was alone. Finding the car Miller knew that he drove, he slid underneath it. Miller unfolded his jack-knife and, finding what he was looking for, made the proper cuts. Joe Miller smiled to himself and slid cautiously out from under the car. Folding the pocket knife closed and brushing himself off, he looked around, and slithered along the wall to the convertible, keeping an eye on his surroundings. Reaching the car, he slid in behind the wheel, started the engine, and exhaled a satisfied breath of revenge. Time to move on and take care of his next obstacle.

E*E*E*E*E

Pete Malloy, dressed in his uniform, walked into Precinct 7 with his arms loaded down with several files, and made his way to his friend's office, Detective Sergeant Bergman.

"Hey, Pete! How ya doin'!? Great to see you! Here, let me give you a hand with those…" Reaching out, Bergman helped relieve Pete of his armload of bulky files and set them on the file cabinet in his office.

"Doing good, Dave, thanks. Can't thank you enough for your help on this. I owe ya one." Pete smiled at his friend.

"Glad to help. Headin' in to work, I see. Got time for a sandwich? I'm buyin'! Not somethin' you hear from me every day." Pete and Dave both laughed.

"Wish I could Dave, but Jim is still out with his injuries and I have to get a few things taken care of before I hit the streets. Appreciate it, though. But when we go, it will be on ME, and I'll throw in a beer or two as thanks for loaning me your files. Deal?" Pete stuck his hand out, and Dave reached out and shook it.

"You won't get any argument from me! Hope they helped. Say, How's Reed doin' anyway?" Bergman inquired.

"He's coming along – chompin' at the bit to get back to the station. I'll let him know you asked about him. Maybe he'll join us for those beers!"

"Sounds great to me Pete. Give him my best. Catch ya later!" Bergman waved at his friend as Pete left his office and made his way out of the building,

Deciding that a sandwich actually did sound like a good idea, Bergman made his way down to the parking garage and to his car, whistling an off-key tune as he went. Firing up his sedan, he pulled out of his parking space, and headed out into the busy street to make his way to his favorite diner on the other side of town, leaving a large puddle behind in his parking space.

E*E*E*E*E

Station 16 was on the scene of the traffic accident when Pete Malloy and his partner Ed Wells rolled up. The dark sedan was pushed to one corner of the busy intersection, the drivers' side pushed almost all the way to the passenger side of the vehicle, making the car look as if it could have folded in half. The customary plastic yellow blanket covering the deceased victim from the prying eyes of onlookers had already been placed. The pick-up truck had its front-end pushed almost entirely into the cab of the vehicle, and Squad 16's paramedics were working to extricate its' critical victims. Vince had already begun to re-direct traffic, and Ed Wells was working with him when Pete heard them mention the deceased victim in the sedan was a police officer. A knot began to form in his stomach. He waited for the rest of it; A name... Bergman. He wanted to vomit.

Walking over to the mangled metal of what was left of the vehicle, Pete felt as though he had cement blocks encasing his shoes. He stood in front of the car, unable to move, unable to speak. In the midst of the noise of the Jaws of Life, the yelling commands of the busy firefighters, and the chatter of the crowd, Pete still heard nothing. He saw nothing, except the outline of his friend under the yellow plastic covering. He saw nothing but the blood stained hand of his friend lying lifeless against the door panel. He saw a vacant shoe from an unknown victim in the street, showing the anger of the violent impact that stole his friend. He felt himself gag on the stench of gasoline as it mixed with the smell of blood as it crept along the crevices of the street as it was being washed down by one of the firemen.

Pete slowly backed away from the scene, uncontrollably shaking at what was in front of him. As he walked backwards, transfixed by the scene in front of him, he hit the curb with the back of his heel, lost his balance and landed on his butt in the grass. Leaning his shaky arms on his knees, Pete put his head down and squeezed his eyes shut. Officer Malloy fought hard not to give in to the haziness that threatened to overtake his already clouded vision.

"Pete, you alright?" Came a familiar voice from behind him. Pete lifted his head without opening his eyes. Mac? Where did he come from?

"Try to take it easy, Pete. I'll have a paramedic check you over."

Pete shook his head. "N-No, Mac. I just need a minute." Pete managed to whisper. Mac put a fatherly arm around Pete Malloy as he knelt down beside him.

"Take a few minutes. I know you and Dave Bergman were good friends. I'll check on you shortly." Mac stood up and replaced his cap, and went back to wrap up the accident scene.

Pete took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

A nervous spectator in the crowd, wearing dark glasses and a hat, smiled smugly as he lit yet another cigarette...


	13. Chapter 13

Johnny slowly opened his eyes. Confusion filled his clouded mind as a steady drumbeat of pain kept time relentlessly with his heartbeat in his head. He blinked rapidly a few times to clear away the fog inhabiting his mind. His licked his parched lips, trying to clear the cotton feeling in his mouth.

As his vision cleared, he glanced around the room, realizing that he wasn't at his apartment. He recognized the familiar curtains and dresser of the guest room in the DeSoto house. He struggled for a few minutes trying to remember why he was there to begin with, when it came back to him. The bank. The safe deposit box. A sense of sadness fell on him as he began to remember.

He slung his legs over the side of the bed, and hung his head. Standing slowly to his feet, John slowly made his way to the restroom. The house was unusually quiet. Thinking Roy was on shift, and JoAnne was running errands, John got in the shower and stood motionless hoping that the hot water and steam would wash away his weariness.

Johnny was unaware how long he stood there; but the water was beginning to turn cool. He switched off the water and stepped out, not bothering to completely dry himself off before getting dressed. His shirt clung to him like the sadness he felt looming over him.

He made his way downstairs and found some coffee and a plate of cinnamon rolls – leave it to JoAnne to be so thoughtful. The thought of food didn't really appeal to him yet, so he just grabbed some coffee and made his way out to the back deck.

Leaning against the railing, Johnny tried to figure out what he needed to do. He knew that Roy would want him to stay there another day. He absent-mindedly rubbed his aching side, feeling his weariness turn toward anger. He had figured that Roy had taken care of the items in the safe deposit box. He was planning to return to work soon, and wanted to have everything handled before he did. Including Miller. Especially Miller.

As he thought about the destruction Miller had created, Johnny's anger grew. He began to make a mental checklist as he finished his coffee. He thought of Jim Reed, a friend who only wanted to help, and had been caught in Miller's scheme. Johnny made his way back into the house. Finding his keys on the hook in the kitchen, John headed out the door.

E*E*E*E*E

Jim Reed sat on his sofa loudly flipping the pages of his latest car magazine for the umpteenth time. Emitting a loud sigh of boredom, he tossed it aside. Looking around the room, he stood up, and wandered it's perimeter, straightening the framed pictures on the wall, adjusting the floral arrangements to a different angle, fluffing the sofa pillows – anything to occupy his time and terribly inactive mind. Jean and Jimmy had gone to the market to afford him some 'quiet' time, which was another thing he was annoyed with. He wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find something to do, but his extremely efficient wife had beat him to it. All the dishes were done and put away. He thought for a second about doing some yard work, or his latest car project, but the idea of his wife's wrath made the idea leave as quickly as it came.

Resigning himself to finding a mind-numbing game show or old western on TV, Jim clicked on the set, and settled into the chair. A loud knock on the door interrupted his plans. Opening the door, he saw his best friend and partner standing on his porch, hands on his hips.

"Heeeyyy, Pete! What a great surprise! Com'on in! Jimmy will be so excited to see his favorite uncle when he gets back! I didn't know you coming by today! Can I get you something? An Iced Tea? A soda? I'm sure there's a beer in there..." Jim's excitement at seeing his best friend was interrupted by Pete's lack of response.

"Pete? Is something wrong? Pete, What is it?" Jim's smile disappeared from his face.

Pete's somber expression brought a look of concern. Pete followed Jim into the livingroom.

"Jim, I need to talk to you. There's no easy way to tell you. There was an accident…"

Jim's face turned a ghostly shade of white. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. He started to teeter. He was barely able to speak.

"J-Jean…t-the b-baby…" Pete grabbed Jim's arm and helped him to the chair.

Oh, God! Oh God No. Jean and Jimmy are Fine! I didn't mean to imply…Geez. I'm so sorry, Jim, Really, I am. Take it easy, Jim. It's alright. Take a deep breath… Okay? Better?" Jim nodded, rubbing his forehead, drawing in a breath and looked at Pete. He still knew that something was seriously wrong. Pete took a breath of his own.

"Dave Bergman was killed yesterday. Car Accident." Jim's eyes widened at the news, and then saddened at the loss of his friend. He then eyed Pete, knowing that Dave and Pete had gone through the academy together. He knew Pete was holding something back.

"Pete, what is it? What aren't you telling me? " Pete hesitated, but before long, he told his partner everything that had happened, right down to his theory of it not being an accident. Jim listened intently, feeling saddened and angry at the same time.

Both men sat in silence on the Reed's couch. Nothing needed to be said. A knock on the door interrupted their thoughts. Jim got up to open the door and found John Gage on the other side.

Hey, Jim. Jus' came by to see how you're doin'. Hey Pete. " John nodded his head in Pete's direction. It only took a couple seconds for John to see that something serious was going on.

"Am I interruptin' something? I can come back another time…" John hung near the door in case he needed to leave.

"No, no. It's okay, John. I'm afraid we have some bad news. You might want to sit down." Pete looked at John to make sure he was sitting before he finished telling him. John froze. His first thought was Roy, and said as much.

"Roy…did somethin' happen to Roy?" John reached out for the chair to steady himself before he sat in it, as he whispered his worst fear. Jim spoke up to reassure his friend.

"No John, it's not Roy. But it is a mutual friend of all of ours." John's face showed his shock as he looked back and forth between Pete and Jim, waiting for the news he knew he was going to dread.

"Ah, Dave Bergman was fatally injured in a car accident yesterday, John. The circumstances of the accident are under investigation." Pete cleared his throat and looked at the floor to hide his emotion and then at his partner. None of this escaped John's eye. John rubbed his shaking hand over his face and let it rest over his mouth, pondering his next thought.

"Under investigation…you mean it wasn't an accident?" No one answered Johnny. He wasn't about to let it go. Still shaking, whether from exhaustion, not eating, or anger, Johnny's voice began to rise.

"Pete, are you telling me that Dave could have been murdered? Just like Trent? And Charlie Linton? Jim? Someone needs to answer me, here!" Pete and Jim exchanged glances. Pete cleared his throat again.

"John, take it easy. The lab is going over his car. We can't assume anything yet. "

"That's a load of crap and you know it, Pete. You don't believe that any more than I do." John got up and started pacing around the livingroom. Jim and Pete made eye contact, wondering who would be the one to give John the rest of the news. Neither wanted to. Jim cradled his throbbing wrist and swallowed hard.

"Um, Johnny? There's something more. I'm afraid it's not good." John stopped dead in his tracks, turning around, meeting Jim's sad eyes. John ran his hand along the back of his already tense neck, letting it rest there for support. Jim Reed decided to let Pete finish for him.

"It seems they decided to question Linda Jennings again as to the whereabouts of Miller."

"Did she know anything? Is she ready to blow the whistle on 'im?" John questioned. John looked back and forth between Jim and Pete. After a moment, Jim finished Pete's thought.

"She was found dead, John. It looks like it was a suicide." Johnny just stared at his friends. He had no words.

"Linda's dead…" John mumbled, walking to the chair, and plopped into it clumsily. The thoughts of Trent's children flooded his mind. They were now orphans. His chest tightened. It was happening again.

"Suicide. How?" John whispered.

"They found an empty prescription bottle and many empty liquor bottles. It looks like a mix of the two. I'm really sorry John. There was no easy way to tell you." Jim talked sympathically to his friend. John slowly rose and began his slow journey of pacing again. He looked like he would never get rid of the weight he carried on his shoulders. He walked to the front window and peered out at nothing. A few minutes passed before he was able to speak.

"We have to stop him. Miller has to be stopped. You have to help me stop 'im." John stated, very matter-of-factly without turning around.

"John, there's a right way and a wrong way to do this. Miller's running scared now. Dave suspended him yesterday before…before he died. Miller is a loose cannon. He's unpredictable. He's dangerous."

John's mind began to put the pieces together. All of a sudden, Johnny spun around and faced Jim and Pete.

"The safe deposit box had an envelope addressed to Dave in it. Probably full of evidence! Pete, this accident has Miller written all over it!"

"Do you have it? If we pass it on to the detectives…" Jim told John, but John's face fell. He knew he had left the bank without the contents of the safe deposit box. He was sure that Roy had secured the items for him.

"I, ah, have to ask to Roy. I ended up leaving the bank before I wanted to so he may have them, or they may still be there. Either way, I know there is more than enough evidence to nail Miller. There were letters, tapes, pictures...God, so many pictures…" John closed his eyes as his memory filled with the images of what had filled the metal box.

He swallowed hard. The key to ending all of this was in that safe deposit box.

Pete left the Reed house and headed home, knowing he had to go on patrol in a couple hours. He was hoping that John would be able to obtain the documents, and that would be that much closer to nailing Miller.

E*E*E*E*E

John entered the privacy of the cubicle and once again slid his key into the box. Taking a deep breath, he opened the box. Panicking, He double-checked the number on the outside of the box, 1-2-0-6. He re-examined the key, seeing that it too bore the number 1-2-0-6. He slowly closed the box, and slowly reopened it, as if he were willing it to magically produce all the documents, tapes and pictures that were there the day before. The only thing that remained in the box was a picture of John and Trent, leaning against the gleaming convertible, both smiling proudly, arms around each others' shoulders. There were no legal documents, no tapes, no incriminating photos. John took his photo, and slammed the box shut, and went into the lobby.

Excuse me, miss? Excuse me? Hello? EXCUSE ME!" His irritation was causing his voice level to rise. A seasoned teller was getting nervous at John's increasing volume.

"Uh, y-yessir? Is there a problem?" The nervous teller asked.

"Well, actually there is. Is the manager here?"

Why yes, he is. I'll get him for you." The teller scurried away to the office. John paced furiously, hands on his hips. A few moments later, a portly, balding man emerged from the office.

"Yessir. I am the bank manager. What seems to be the problem?"

"Actually, I would like to speak to the other bank manager. He was here yesterday when I was here." John stated.

The stout man looked at the bank teller with a questioning look on his face. The bank teller slipped away to make a phone call.

"Well, I assure you sir, I am the only bank manager in this branch. I'm sure I don't know what or who you are talking about." John screwed up his face in confusion. He was getting upset. His voice reflected it.

"YOU are the ONLY manager?" John started to talk with his hands out of exasperation to make his point, using them to describe the other bank employee.

"I was here just yesterday with my friend. We went in THOSE rooms. A man claiming to be the manager, a squirrelly lookin' guy, about yay tall, glasses, beady eyes, mousey voice, had the matching key to the safe deposit box. I became, uh, ill and had to be taken home so I wasn't able to take the contents of the box with me. Now, they're gone! So, where ARE they? What did ya do with 'em?" John leaned against the chair in the lobby for support. His head was pounding. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Sir, you need to lower your voice and calm down. You don't look well, perhaps you should come into my office.."

"I-I'm fine right here. I want to know where my documents are, and who that guy was! Hey, how do I know that you're not the imposter?" The heavyset man huffed in disgust. The front door of the bank opened in haste.

"Freeze right there, mister! Hands in the air!" Both the bank manager and John slowly raised their hands in synchronized unison, frozen in place. The over-eager officer ran up and ordered Johnny to the floor. Johnny wasted no time following orders. The bank manager stood and watched, not moving a muscle. Johnny was promptly and painfully handcuffed.

"W-what's going on?" a scared bank manager asked.

"We got a call that a customer was going crazy, getting ready to wreck the place."

"What?!" Who called you? We were just talking!" The bank manager insisted.

"QUIET! No talking!" Ordered the young officer, his hands shaking, his gun shaking along with them.

The eager officer stood poised with his weapon pointed at John. Soon a familiar voice of reason could be heard. Sizing up the situation and recognizing the man on the floor, The senior officer became upset.

"Benson, what the hell are you doing? John, are you alright? Benson, get those cuffs off, and help him up! Now!" Pete Malloy ordered of the young officer in training.

"Oh, ah, y-yessir. Sorry sir. I jus' thought he was the Perp, being he was, you know, an Indian and all…"

"BENSON! Consider yourself on report! This happens to be John Gage, a personal friend of mine. He is a firefighter and a paramedic with Los Angeles County, and I'm sure that he is willing to hear your apology now. NOW BENSON!" John was looking at the floor, rubbing his sore wrists, and the red-faced rookie stammered over his words.

"S-sorry, Mr. Gage. I didn't know. " John just looked at the insincere young officer. Pete ordered him to the patrol car to get the proper reports. Upon his return, Pete instructed him to take a statement from the bank manager, while Pete talked to Johnny about the empty safe deposit box. John also filled him in about the bogus bank manager and gave him a description. Pete took detailed notes, also noticing John's pale complexion. He was tempted to call Roy, but he knew that this bank was out of Squad 51's district. He had John sit down in a vacant office, and had someone bring him a glass of water. Pete sat down in the chair next to him. After a few minutes, Pete spoke to his friend.

"You alright, John?" John sipped some water and gave a slight nod. Pete didn't believe him.

"We'll get him John. Why don't you let me call someone for you?" Johnny just shook his head.

"M-okay, Pete. I'm just gonna go home." Johnny sighed loudly. "It's never going to be over, is it? Miller's gonna get away with it, isn't he!"

"Not if I can help it. He'll make a mistake. And when he does, We'll have him. Go home and get some rest, okay?" Pete patted John on the shoulder. John walked dejectedly out of the bank and sped off in his Rover. Would this nightmare ever end? He got on the exit of the busy freeway that would lead to his apartment.

E*E*E*E*E

Johnny's mind was whirling as he began to think of ways recover the lost documents. The legal papers would be able to be recovered from the attorney's office, as there would be copies in their files. But the tapes? What about the pictures? Trent had never mentioned the name of the private investigator he had hired. Chances are, that information would have been in the safe deposit box too. He knew those things were now gone forever.

He tried to make a mental checklist of the papers he needed to collect from the lawyers office, when he sucked in a sudden emotional breath. His brown eyes began to fill with un-spilled tears as he remembered one of the envelopes he saw in the dark, sleek box at the bank before it had been stolen.

Most of the envelopes had been methodically typed and arranged. John's heart and mind stuck on this one – the one that had been personally written by Trent's own hand. It kept flashing in John's mind, causing the tears in John's eyes to burn as they continued to well. The Envelope was simply and lovingly marked:

** Benjy and Lisa**

It hit John squarely in his soul that Trent's children would never see their father's loving words to them. They would never read his wish for their future; his dreams for them, see in print by their father's own hand how proud he was to be their dad. They wouldn't know that the day of their birth was the happiest day of his life, and that he would love them, always and forever. Their father had been ripped away from them – yet again. But this time, by way of his loving words that had been tucked away and entrusted to John. The feeling of nausea in the pit of his stomach reminded Johnny that it was probably gone forever.

Johnny's tears were mixed with both anger and his broken spirit. He pulled the picture of he and Trent out of his pocket and held it against the steering wheel as he drove. His tears fell without hesitation, but he didn't care. They weren't for him. His thoughts were of his friend and the children.

"I'm so sorry Trent. This is such a mess. I'm gonna fix it. I promise. Miller's gonna pay for all this, buddy. We'll get him. You'll be able to rest in peace soon." John put the picture back in his pocket, and swiped his face with the sleeve of his bicep.

Johnny didn't notice the beat-up white van that had been following him since he had left the DeSoto house earlier that day. It began to tighten the distance between it and the Rover on the highway as Johnny signaled to change lanes. The plate-less van moved closer, leaving only a few feet between. As the van slid closer, John glanced up in time to see the van slam into the back of his truck, sending him off the side of the road and speed off down the highway.


	14. Chapter 14

Miller stood with his back to the wall in the alley, huddled in a ragged overcoat, despite it being 78 degrees. He fiddled with his lighter, having smoked his last cigarette a half hour ago. A scrap piece of paper skittered across the pavement, making him duck nervously into the nearest doorway for cover. He pulled a small paper bag from his pocket and quickly unscrewed the cap, taking a long drink of the bitter liquid. Squeezing his eyes shut at its cheap bitterness, Miller paused as it burned all the way to its destination. He held the back of his hand to his mouth, willing the contents of his stomach to remain there. Satisfied that they would, he took another swig. Replacing the cap, he put the bottle back in his pocket and waited. He paced. He even resorted to relieving himself in the corner like the homeless drunks had done that slept in that same alley. He wasn't sure he could go back to his apartment anymore. He wasn't sure what they knew at this point. He wasn't sure if they were looking for him. He wasn't sure if Gage had outsmarted him.

Finally, he heard the sound of the loud, muffler-less vehicle. He slid back into the doorway just to be safe. The car door slammed. He heard heavy footsteps clunking through the alley. Then, nothing.

"Hey, you here? Miller?" A loud whisper could be heard asking.

Miller stepped out of the shadows, grabbed the man's arm and pulled him back into the doorway with him.

"You have a big mouth, you know that? I don't know why you bother whispering. Did you do what I asked? Did you take care of Gage?" The man looked around and nodded his head.

"I rammed his Rover from behind – right off the road. Did a header right off the 405." The man smiled eerily. "I've wanted to do that for a long time…ever since Gage got me kicked out of the paramedic program!" He looked at Miller.

"But did you make sure he was dead?" Miller grabbed him by the shirt collar. His breath was making the man shrink back from Joe Miller's face. The man grabbed at Miller's hands and tried to pry them from his shirt.

"Look, Miller! I didn't run down to the vehicle and check his pulse if that's what you mean, but I hit him pretty hard, and the way his truck went off the road and nailed that highway sign…I'd say It's not very likely that he survived. Now if you don't mind…" He grabbed at his shirt and yanked it from Miller's grasp. The men glared at each other for a few moments. Miller shook his head. Another incompetent idiot.

"Did you bring what I asked for?" Joe Miller asked him. The man reached into his pocket and retrieved a thick envelope and handed it to him. He opened it, and started counting money, and looked at what appeared to be a passport.

"Now, you promised that if I brought this to you, you would keep quiet about my involvement in Gage's little, ah, accident. I have your word. Right, Miller?"

Without looking up, Miller nodded his head. The man looked relieved.

"So...are we done here?" The man asked, looking around nervously.

"Yep, you go your way, I go mine. Got it?" Miller told the man. The man nodded, looked around and stepped carefully out of the confines of the doorway and cautiously headed slowly toward his van.

Miller stepped out of the shadowed protection of the doorway, and yelled.

"Hey, Marlowe!" Ed turned in the direction of the voice to see a gun leveled at him. A shot rang out. Ed Marlowe grabbed his chest and fell with a thump to the ground. Joe Miller slipped the paper bag out of his coat pocket and began pouring its contents onto Marlowe's bloody body. He poured some on his overcoat, and pulled up the lifeless body of Ed Marlowe, and put the beat up overcoat on him. He emptied Ed's pockets, emptied Ed's wallet, stuffing the money into his own pocket, and smeared dirt onto Ed's lifeless face, then let him fall, thumping coldly and heartlessly to the ground. He pried the keys from his fingers, and headed for the dented up van. Joe Miller sped off, never looking back, heading for the 405.

E*E*E*E*E

The A-shift of station 51 sat around the table devouring their meal. Well, except for one member. Roy scooted his Goulash around his plate with his fork in absent-minded patterns. The phone call he had received from his friend Pete Malloy had un-nerved him. He had tried to reach John at the DeSoto house, but with no luck. He called Johnny's apartment, but got no answer there either. He knew that John hearing the news of Dave Bergman's death would come as a shock to his partner. John and Dave had become friends and often did things together. Dave became engaged six months ago, and John was to have been a groomsman in Dave's wedding next month. What worried Roy was the news of Linda Jennings' suicide. He knew that would hit his best friend deep in the pit of his soul. He also knew that his friend would set his mind with new determination to make sure that Miller be stopped, and that scared Roy. His worrisome thoughts would have to wait, as the klaxons called them to a single vehicle accident.

E*E*E*E*E

The mangled large highway sign was snapped in half. The force of the impact caused it to plummet forward and cover the white hood of the Rover. Angry wisps of smoke began to sneak slowly from the bent grill, and from the undercarriage, ruffling the dry grass beneath. The jagged edges had somewhat shattered the windshield, sending ragged fragments carelessly both in and out of the vehicle. The two front tires were now limp and shapeless. The rear tailgate was pushed in and the spare tire lost, probably somewhere in the vast brush landscape. An eerie stillness surrounded the inside of the vehicle. Cars and trucks alike maintained their busy journeys on the highway above.

A black and white police unit pulled up to the shoulder of the highway, and Vince Howard exited his vehicle, and began scanning the vast scrub scenery. Spying the wreck below, Vince began making his way to the accident scene to check for survivors. A bevvy of sirens began making themselves heard in the distance, as Vince got to the window of the vehicle. Shocked at what he saw, He pounded on the window to rouse its occupant. Not getting a response, Vince tried to pull on the door. Being jammed in the accident, He retreated back up the hill when he heard the horn blast of the approaching engine, knowing that help was approaching.

Squad 51 pulled up first, with Roy and Brice getting their turnouts on, and getting their equipment out of the rig. Roy greeted Vince, who quickly bypassed him, and went straight to the engine, and to the ear of Captain Stanley. After sharing his information, a quiet expletive could be read from the Captain's lips as he called out orders for a hose to wash down the scene below. As Roy and Brice were preparing to head down to the scene, their Captain called them over.

'Roy? Brice? A moment, please?" Both jogged over, knowing moments were crucial. Hank put a hand on Roy's shoulder.

"Roy, it's, ah, Johnny down there. Vince said he's unconscious. Can't tell how bad. I'm gonna send Brice and Chet down and have you set up a line to Rampart up here…" Roy interrupted his superior. Roy paled at the news.

"No way! Cap! Johnny's gonna need me! No offense to Brice, but Johnny'll respond to me. Let me go. Please, Cap." Hank only had to ponder the request for a moment. He handed the HT to Roy.

"Ok, Roy, Brice Go. Chet, Go with them. Roy took off before his captain could change his mind.

Descending the hill, Roy couldn't breathe. Not because of the exertion, but because of his best friend. Because of what he might find. He let Brice and Chet carry the equipment. God, let him be alive. Please. Mike and Marco were hosing down the Rover and the area around it.

E*E*E*E*E

His mind was muddled with pain and confusion. He felt the echoed pounding over his left shoulder on the window…and a voice calling out. Was he in his truck? Why was he in his truck, or wait, was he at home? Where was he going? Was it time to go to the station already? What day is it? A stab of pain shot through his head. Slowly a moan escaped his throat. He lifted his fingers to the source of the pain. Sticky. Warm. Taste..what was that taste? Coppery…bitter…his stomach did a turn. He moved his leg. A pain shot through him. Bad idea. How did that happen? His head was swimming. His eyelids were heavy – too heavy to lift. He let his hand drop. The vehicle rocked. A voice – who was that? So tired…hurts to breathe…hurts to think...so sleepy...

a smothering darkness claimed him.

E*E*E*E*E

Chet began to pull on the passenger side door. The vehicle rocked in rebellion. Roy knew there would be no access through the drivers' side, and Mike produced a crowbar and began working on the passenger side door. Groaning and creaking in retaliation, the metal door finally gave way, and Roy crept into the vehicle, eager to be at his best friend's side.

"Johnny? Johnny? Can you hear me?" A small moan was all that could be heard. Brice worked at getting behind their patient to immobilize him. Roy tried to hide his fear at the blood covering his friend's forehead and trickling down his cheek. He continued to prod his friend to respond to him. He carefully removed the broken windshield glass from around him.

"Hey junior, I need you to talk to me. Com'on buddy. Johnny?" Roy began to take vitals, and instructed Chet to get an open a line to Rampart. Frowning at his findings, Roy began to check John's limbs, noting swelling of his left ankle, and the throaty moan that escaped his partner's lips.

Chet appeared, asking when John could be transported. Roy was chomping at the bit, wanting to get his friend out of the vehicle, but the steering column and the unstable vitals were preventing that. He knew his shift mates were working on it. He kept talking to his best friend, encouraging him to stay with him, telling him that he was there. He even took a moment to squeeze John's hand in reassurance, hoping that he might receive one in return. He didn't. Roy sucked in a worried breath.

After all barriers were removed and everything was in place, John was slowly and carefully extricated, and brought to the waiting ambulance. There was no question that Roy was going with him. Brice didn't even ask or question. He helped load the equipment and closed the ambulance doors. He backed away, and the ambulance pulled into traffic. A white banged-up van watching from the overpass above took the exit and pulled onto the crowded freeway, tailing the ambulance. Even with sirens blaring, the van was able to follow at a reasonable speed two cars behind. It wasn't long before traffic was at a complete stand-still, mimicking a giant parking lot. As he sat in the van, an idea crept into his mind that could lead to his freedom, and possibly out of the country.

E*E*E*E*E

"Com'on, Johnny, leave that alone. Take it easy. You're gonna be okay. I promise." Roy tried to replace the oxygen mask for the third time on his partner, as Johnny fought the fog in his mind. He reached again for his aching head, and Roy intercepted his hand, gently placing it back down. Roy reported his partner's disorientation to Rampart, and adjusted the IV and flow of oxygen. He checked his watch for the tenth time, or was it fifteenth? They had only inched in traffic; slowing the progress of his best friend getting the treatment he needed. His blood pressure was too low; His pulse fast. Rampart was edgy and anxious to get him in there. Johnny was shocky. Time was getting crucial.

"How ya doing,Junior?" Roy asked, trying to hide his concern.

"Mmnnmm…" was all John could muster. Roy slammed his fist into the jumpseat bench. Sitting idle in traffic was useless. Time was wasting. He began taking Johnny's vitals again when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He looked out the back window to see someone quickly approaching the ambulance. Before he could react, the door opened, and found himself face to face with Joe Miller, and his gun.


End file.
